


With Prey

by pennywife



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Feels, Attempt at Humor, Brutal Murder, Disturbing Themes, Drama, Drinking, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Gore, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, It's justified though, Other, Pain, Partying, Reader Is Flawed, Reader Is Perpetually Horny, Reader-Insert, References to Depression, Sappy Ending, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Weird Plot Shit, You get on Pennywise's nerves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-24 04:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 96,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennywife/pseuds/pennywife
Summary: “But you do like me,”  you begin, trying to reach out and feel the fabric of its suit without it noticing. “I can tell. This thing… It’s kind of like a relationship. We’re like uh… We’re like mates.”





	1. Questions

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to try my hand at a more lighthearted reader/Pennywise than the other one I've been working on.

“Why do you keep coming back here?”

“I enjoy it here.”

“You mean you enjoy _me_.”

“No.” It turns to sneer at you before turning back to the television. “Brat.”

The sound of a woman’s blood-curdling scream spills out through the speakers, and Pennywise leans forward to watch intently as a creature rips open her belly. It’s not bad for a rainy midday horror-flick but you’ve seen it before. You give it a moment, chewing on the skin at the beds of your nails, before boredom finally gets the best of you again.

“Hey.”

It grunts.

“You know what I just realized? Your name isn’t _actually_ Pennywise. Pennywise is just the name of _this_ shape... The clown.”

It keeps its eyes fixed forwards, but you know you’ve distracted it. The lines carved into its browbones twitch so faintly you almost miss it.

“You are a very stupid little thing.” It murmurs back.

Biting down on a laugh, you swing your legs over the arm of the recliner. You can’t see the movie this way, but you can watch its reactions whenever the monster kills another actor. Its irises flash yellow each time, glowing like the eyes of an animal when you shine a light into the darkness. You love when it gets that look, that undeniable hunger. Sometimes, when you're about to drift off to sleep at night, you find yourself wishing it would look that way at _you._

“So if you don’t have a name, I guess I could call you anything I want.”

That seems to strike a nerve within it. You watch as its body goes rigid; as though it knows you won’t stop until you’ve gotten a rise out of it, as though it knows whatever is about to come out of your mouth next will be both idiotic and pointless. It hates being annoyed. And you? You simply love to annoy it.

You can feel your cheeks burning, trying hard to keep your voice steady as you whisper, _“I could even call you ‘Kevin.’”_

“Does testing my patience bring you pleasure?” It asks gruffly, saliva spewing from the corners of its mouth.

“Not always. I’m just so fucking _bored_.”

“I will not be your entertainment.” It yawns, jaw coming unhinged before settling back in place. “Leave me be. Go do things that humans like to do.”

You let out a tiny snort of air. _Leave me be_ , it says. You want to riposte that this is _your_ home, but a part of you knows that’s not entirely true anymore. This house belongs as much to it as it does to you, and despite your never-ending bravado you’re not about to lecture the most dangerous predator in the macroverse on what it does and does not own. You let out a defeated sigh, and try to peel your socks off using only your toes instead.

“You know… I think you’re just in a bad mood because you’re tired.”

“I am _never_ tired.”

“Yes you are. You’re tired all the time lately. I know how it works; you wake up, you eat a few dozen people, and you go to sleep for like thirty years. Gotta be really fuckin’ tired to go to sleep for thirty whole years.” You pause, reaching down to scoop a handful of popcorn from the bowl at the edge of the carpet. “When you wake back up again,” you begin, chewing loudly enough to hopefully make it look at you, “I’ll be old.”

“For a human.” It retorts, leaning back in its seat.

Warmth tugs at the edge of your lips, a small smirk gracing your face. You study the sharp edges of its jaw and the crackling skin around its forehead. God, it’s so beautiful. You’d always been afraid of clowns as a child until you laid eyes upon this one. You wonder if it knows, and if that’s why it likes to stay in this form.

At last you get up from your seat in the chair adjacent to it, moving to plop down right beside it on the couch. It recoils, scooting away to the other end.

“If I truly annoy you… If you really hate me so much… You could always… You know… Just eat me.”

“You have no hope. You have no fear. Your flesh would taste as bitter as ash.”

“What the- wait- you mean you’ve _thought about it?”_

“Of course. Each time you open your mouth.”

You stare at it with wide eyes, jaw hanging open. After a moment you can see the changes in its face, brightened so subtly by its own dark amusement. You let it finish watching a particularly gruesome scene, and then you shift yourself closer to it.

“But you do like me,”  you begin, trying to reach out and feel the fabric of its suit without it noticing. “I can tell. This thing… It’s kind of like a relationship. We’re like uh… We’re like mates.”

It turns to you, face twisted up in disgust before looking right back at the screen. “We are not mates. I do not take mates.”

“Yeah, I dunno. I mean, can we even _be_ mates if we’ve never mated before? I mean… Isn’t that how… It works…?” You trail off, hoping it’ll interject. It doesn’t. It simply pretends not to hear you. “Do you… Do you even know what sex is?”

Pennywise flicks its eyes back over to you and holds them there, annoyance plastered across its face.

“You know, you give me that look… But sometimes I really don’t think you know what it is.” You narrow your eyes, turning beside it to face it completely. “I mean, surely you’ve seen it. You’ve been here this long, watching humans. I’d find it hard to believe if you told me you’d never accidentally seen someone get it on before.”

The clown closes its eyes, as though it’s trying to calm itself.

“Or hey, maybe it’s not so accidental. Maybe that’s your thing. Maybe you like to watch.” Your voice lowers to just above a whisper. “Have you ever watched _me?”_

“Yes.”

A rush of excitement courses through you.

“Wait, what? Really?”

“I can see each one of your memories. I know every lie you have ever told, every human you have ever brought into your bed. I can see everything you have ever done, as easily as watching the pictures on this screen.”

“Jesus. So you’ve seen that time I-”

“Yes.” A glimmer of amusement flashes in its eyes. “Unfortunately.”

You press quick a wave of embarrassment down before continuing, not wanting it to smell the stench of it on you. “Okay, so you’ve seen it. You know what it is… How it works… But have you ever… you know… Have you ever tried it?”

“No.”

“Not even once? Why not?”

“I have never wanted to.” It hisses, lips pulled back in disgust.

“Okay but _everyone_ has sex. Well, not everyone, but every species. Basically. I know that most do… I think.”

It turns to you, cocking its head to the side. Its knees brush against your own, and you wonder for a moment whether or not it notices it’s touching you.

“Take a look around and tell me, Child; do you see any others who are like me?” It takes your silence for an answer. “No. You do not. I do not mate with my prey.”

Your shoulders drop, and you take a shallow breath before continuing. “Okay then. Have you ever-”

“Are you _still_ speaking to me?”

“Have you ever… you know… finished?”

Its face twists up just slightly, confused by what you’re asking it.

“Climaxed? Came? Ejaculated? Busted a n-”

“Enough!” It snarls, claws bursting from its gloves and into the seams of the cushions beside it.

You’d be lying if you said its loss of composure didn’t make your stomach drop, but there’s always something so magical about being reminded how dangerous it truly is. Swallowing down that hard lump of fear, you sit and you wait until its eyes have faded back to blue but they don’t. Instead they glow orange, then as red as you’ve ever seen anything before in your life. It sits there for a moment, staring at the floor with a wandering eye. Drool begins to spill from its mouth and that’s when you realize, with horror, that it’s just smelled fear on you for the first time since you've met it.

“Oh shit.” You’re off of the couch before you can even think about it, instinct driving you to get away. “Oh God- Look, I’m sorry, I’ll be good- I’ll- I’ll let you watch the movie and I’ll-”

When it stands from its seat you can feel your body crumpling in on itself. Your knees begin to wobble, and you take a stumbling step away from it before kicking the bowl of popcorn all over the floor. It advances toward you, nearly twice your fucking size and _this is it. You’ve done it this time. You and your stupid fucking mouth._

It opens its jaws, words veering on the edge of a growl. “Is that what you want, Little Buddy? Do you want me to _mate_ with you? _”_

It backs you up all the way against the wall. You throw out your hands beside you, trying to flatten yourself.

“Do you want me to _fuck you_ in ways those pathetic men in the backseats of cars could never even fathom? Do you want me to _fill you_ , all those empty places inside of you, and make you _scream?”_

“I don’t- I-I-”

Its so close now, and for the first time you can smell its breath, hot and acrid like the stench of roadkill. It looks you over like a piece of rotten meat, head tilted up and peering at you down its wine-colored nose. Then it pauses for a moment, as though it’s debating whether or not it would be worth the effort to eat you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip until you taste iron on your tongue. When you open them again the scarlet of its irises have faded back to yellow, so you part your lips and you whisper, “Yes. I- _Yes.”_

“What did you say?” It asks with a hiss, still glaring down at you.

“I said... I said yes... what you s-said- I- That's... That’s what I want. All of those things. I want you to f-fuck me.”

Eons pass with its face frozen in abhorrence.

“I should kill you.” It finally replies.

“But you haven’t.” You scoot towards it, just by an inch, and it feels as if you’re reaching out towards a shark in the water. “I think you’re curious. I think you want me too.”

“I do not mate with prey.” It insists, louder and more stern this time.

“But I’m not prey... Like you said, I would taste like shit- or- whatever it was that you said. So technically… You know… You wouldn’t be playing with your food or anything.” You brush your fingers over the fluffy red ball on its boot.

Amusement glimmers in its eyes, though you can see it trying to stifle it and shape it into disdain. It pulls its foot away, and returns to the couch without a word.

“So is that a maybe?” You call after it, smirking coyly again. “Should I try again tomorrow?”


	2. Lingerie

It lies around on your sofa like a house-cat on the weekdays, silent and docile and strange. You’ve learned that it always leaves a couple hours after lunch, and you tell yourself it has nothing to do with the fact that it’s the same time the local children make their ways home from school. It always pops back in just before the sun sets, never enough time for you to properly pester it before it’s time to sleep.   
  
Weekends are different. You rise at the crack of noon, fully energized and ready to make its day a living nightmare. You toe the line as closely as you can, just enough to get the attention you so desperately crave from it. It’s never enough to make it snap at you again though. It always closes its eyes, digs its fingers and claws into the sheets and fabric of your couch; calms itself down without falter. It growls, hisses, retorts, even changes its shape into things it believes will strike fear into your heart, but it never lashes out again. 

You think maybe this is because it knows that its anger brings you some sense of arousal. Maybe it doesn’t want to even humor the possibility that its little outburst from last time made you weak in the knees, made your imagination run wild at how fucking strong it looked when it backed you up against your wall. 

Or maybe there’s no ulterior motive at all, and the being’s unbelievable sense of composure is nothing more than a coincidence.

Either way there’s one thing that prods at the back of your mind, and that is that it is unbelievably shitty to continue to try to sleep with someone who has made it clear they do not want to touch you. Doing so is just as manipulative as it is predatory; but as you crawl into bed wearing your nicest lingerie, you reason that no one could ever make this thing do something it doesn’t want to do.    
  
And by ‘no one,’ you really fucking do mean no one. Pennywise is the most powerful creature on the face of this earth. One wrong move and it could rip your jaw off and eat it like a piece of fruit. You definitely don’t have to adhere to the same ethical and social protocol with this thing as you would with another human being.    
  
So, in other words, it’s fine.    
  
This is fine.    
  
“What is this?” It asks, with narrowed eyes, as though it sees through your intentions and not just through the translucent fabric covering your breasts.    
  
“Me? Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just uh… Just taking a little nap.”   
  
A muscle in its cheek twitches. It draws its limbs in closer to itself, watching you carefully as it lies curled up tightly at the foot of the mattress. Its spine must be made of rubber, contorted so bizarrely. You move your toes over closer towards it and it flinches before jolting upright with a scowl.    
  
“I know what you are doing.”    
  
“Geez, that’s weird... considering... you know... that I’m not doing  _ anything.“ _ __   
  
It makes a clicking sound, letting out a little snort of air. “Stupid child. It will not work. You mistake thinking I would ever share your weak little desires.”   
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You stretch out your arms before rolling over and pressing a finger to your lips. “But please, Pennywise. Keep it down. I’m trying to get some sleep.”   
  
Your eyes are closed but you can hear the faint rumble of a growl igniting somewhere in its throat. Biting down hard on the inside of your cheeks, you try to keep from cracking a smile.    
  
“I can smell you.” It hisses, disgusted.   
  
“Yeah? I can smell you too, Sewer-Boy. How the hell are you even able to sneak up on your victims? That piss-and-shit stench you wear should definitely give you aw-”   
  
Cool air slaps your skin as it rips the sheets from your body. Your eyes burst open and you roll quickly onto your back, expecting another wonderfully frightening stand-down just like the one a couple weeks ago. Instead you catch just the final glimpse of the tail-end of the blanket, being pulled gruffly behind it as it storms out of the room.    
  
A smirk graces your face before you roll onto your stomach and finally drift off to sleep. 

You know exactly why you keep pushing it. You love the way your name rolls so darkly off of its tongue when it scolds you, and you’re just stupid enough to think that if it exercised its murderous intentions on you once that it will do so always. 

But hey, no one ever accused you of knowing how to read a room.    
  
You soon learn that you are painfully wrong about its unwavering self-control. It becomes crystal-clear that you’ve grown far too arrogant for its liking. How do you know this, you ask yourself once again? Well, it’s all because of a hand. A severed hand, to be exact, lying right in the center of your refrigerator.    
  
The stench hits you like a blow to the face before you even get the door all the way opened. Five fingers curled up just slightly, all the color rinsed from the skin, rest proudly between the tub of strawberries and the carton of O.J. It’s like hamburger meat pouring out from the wrist, accented with just the slightest protrusions of bone. 

It’s presented to you like a gift, a delightful surprise, a fucking holiday casserole. The problem with this, is that you know it’s not a gift at all. It’s a fucking  _ warning.  _ _   
_   
When you look at that freshly detached hand, you hear its words in your mind. It’s not real, of course, but that gravelly voice echoes in your head all the same.  _ “You seem to have forgotten what I am, what I do, and what I am capable of. You see this, Little Buddy? I did this. I want you to know that I could just as easily do it to you.”  _ __   
  
It takes a solid ten minutes to close the refrigerator door, and another five to finally unclench your asshole enough to be able to turn and walk away. 

_Well, that’s definitely it._ You take a loud gulp and head to sit numbly in your living-room recliner. _You’re done trying to get a rise out of it. And you’re certainly, undoubtedly, unquestionably done with trying to fuck it._


	3. Curtain

In the subsequent days that follow, you are as silent as a graveyard mouse. You bite your tongue better than you have ever bitten it before in your life, keeping your head down and only acknowledging its existence when absolutely necessary.   
  
Even when you aren’t with it the thoughts of that body part in your fridge makes your jaw feel wired shut, and it only takes a couple days for the people around you to ask what the fuck has gotten into you. Your friends, your coworkers, your parents; they all want to know what could have possibly happened to make a spitfire like you go so dark and so cold. You brush them off with a shrug each time you’re prodded, not wanting to let on that the horror of Derry has threatened to either bite off your hand or devour everything else. You tell them you just don’t feel like talking, to which they all act as if you’ve told them the moon was made out of ostrich-shit.   
  
“You have been a very quiet little thing.”   
  
Pennywise’s words snap you back to reality, making you jolt in your chair at the table.   
  
Every fiber in your body wants you to spit back, _“Yeah? Well maybe it has something to do with the fucking human hand you left right above my goddamn avocados. You know how much avocados cost, you baby-faced little shit?”_ But you know far better than to do that now.   
  
Its eyes flicker in amusement when it sees you aren’t going to answer. It pulls its lips into a grin, flashing the edges of its pointy rabbit-teeth.   
  
“What’s wrong, Little Buddy? Clown got your tongue?”   
  
Your hands clench up into fists at your side. You take a deep breath, wondering for a moment if this is how you make it feel when you tease it.   
  
“What was that?” It cocks its head to the side an unnatural amount, chin nearly pointed upside down. “Did you say something to me?”   
  
You feel your face redden. _Hold it in. You have to hold it in._   
  
Pennywise pouts, but you see the unbridled joy in its eyes when it continues. “Spit it out, Little One. Don’t you know what to say back?” It drapes its arms over the back of the couch, leans in closer towards the kitchen. “Or, do you need me to give you a _hand?”_   
  
You’re up the stairs and in your room with the door slammed shut before it can even let out that ear-piercing laugh.   
  
It’s so fucking pleased with itself. It’s finally showed you who wears the victorian-era pants in this bizarre excuse of a friendship.   
  
You dig your fingernails into the flesh of your palms until angry red marks burst to life beneath them.   
  
It isn’t just the frustration of feeling muzzled. It isn’t simply that now you feel as if you’re a prisoner in your own home, or the matter of actually feeling like prey for the first time in your ever-so-bold existence. It’s the fact that now you have _nothing._ There’s no way to try and talk to it anymore, and honestly that sucks a pretty big one. You’ll never again be able to try and convince it that you are anything more than a useless piece of food, something to be used and discarded in scraps of cartilage and bone. All in all, you’re mostly disappointed that you no longer have the chance to make it want you.   
  
You let out a laugh, because it’s the first time you’ve ever admitted to yourself that you actually do want this thing. It’s not just your insatiable sexual appetite; it’s because in these past few months with it roaming around your home like the grim reaper, you think you’re starting to fall in love.   
  
Love? No, that isn’t it. It doesn’t feel right on your tongue. It’s more like a budding flower, like that boy who took you on your first date in his car. You knew it could never amount to anything more than a french-kiss in some open field, but your heart still sang every time he flashed those big blue eyes at you.   
  
You can’t remember the last time a man laid his hands on you, kissed you, gave you a proper bedroom-romp that a girl with your sex-drive so desperately needs to properly function. This becomes pretty fucking evident in the way your belly flops at the memory of it picking its teeth earlier today with its tongue. God, what you wouldn’t give to have that tongue in your— wait.   
  
Holy shit.   
  
It really _has_ been a fucking long time. You rush into your bathroom and lock the door behind you at a speed that would put even the horniest of people to shame.   
  
There’s no illusion as to whether or not this thing is all-knowing. You know that it could see if it wanted to, but you also reason that it definitely doesn’t. Any whiff of your arousal is sure to make it flee from your house and into the sewers beneath the town. It certainly isn’t going to hate-watch as you clumsily bring yourself to orgasm with the massaging head of your shower. It certainly isn’t— oh wait, _fuck_ that feels good.   
  
You lift your leg a little higher, spreading just a bit more to reach that wonderful place between your thighs. You need only think of its teeth on your neck, and you come like a fucking freight train.   
  
_Oh Jesus,_ you think as you step dripping onto the cushy yellow floor-mat. _This is where we are now— fucking ourselves in secret to the thought of our platonic serial-killer of a companion._   
  
For some reason, the night that follows afterwards is harder than any you’d experienced with it before. You find yourself restless; eluded by sleep, no matter how many glasses of wine you told yourself you would never again drink before a Monday. The blue-tinged moonlight that paints your room looks so fucking beautiful draped around it. All you can think about is how good it would feel to reach across the mattress and touch it.   
  
You don’t though. You won’t. You can’t. You’re still very much attached to your hands, and as the sexual frustration builds, you realize just how much you actually need them.   
  
The shameful aquatic-masturbation becomes something of a routine. You’ll catch sight of it running its gloved fingers through its hair, clamp a palm over your mouth to keep from moaning, and bolt directly into the shower. You come each time with its name threatening to spill from your lips, imagination running wild with the things it could do to you if it really wanted.   
  
You drift off to sleep at night with imaginary conversations in your head; picturing how it could happen and how it might feel. You imagine yourself on your knees, spilling your guts all over its filthy grey suit; _“I think about you when I shower, Pennywise. I fuck myself to the thought of what lies beneath that horrible outfit. I imagine what those fingers would feel like wrapped around my throat, and how hard you could make me come just by whispering in my ear with that pin-sharp voice. I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me with everything you have.”_   
  
You know that it’s pathetic, okay? You know. Self-respecting women should never feel as if they need a man to make them whole— but that’s not what this is. You don’t need it. You _want_ it; a lethal and superfluous luxury. It’s almost like how every bigtime drug-dealer wants to own a pet tiger.   
  
Only, the tiger is immortal.   
  
And it can turn into things your find can’t even fathom.   
  
And you really, _really_ want the chance to fuck it.   
  
So anyways, you continue to do as you do best; which is pushing your reservations out of your mind and pretending that they never even existed. You arrive home from another long day of work to see it sprawled out languorously on the length of your couch, and decide to treat yourself to a little afternoon shower-head delight.   
  
You hop on the tips of your toes up the stairs, hoping to God it doesn’t understand the concepts of human hygiene enough to question why on earth you’ve started taking three showers a day. Once inside you turn the water just hot enough to nearly boil you alive, unhook the massager from its holder, and proceed to make your way to rock bottom.   
  
With your left hand you grip the silver cord that spurts out from the head and aim it just right. With your right you travel lower, angling your palm so you can press a finger inside while the stream dances against your clit. You’re already wet, even under the rushing of the water as it pours between your thighs.   
  
“Tell me, child.” The grating sound of its voice is like a sledgehammer to the heart, catching you off guard as it peers at you over the shower-rod. “Why must you do this so often?”   
  
“Jesus Christ!” The nozzle drops from your hands and slams into the porcelain wall with a loud bang. You grab hold of the curtain, metal rings screeching as you try desperately to pull it enough to hide your nakedness. “Penny— What— What the absolute _fuck?”_   
  
“You wish me to mate with you, but this I cannot see?”   
  
“This isn’t— I don’t— This is _different!”_   
  
“This brings you pleasure?”   
  
You stare up at it with your jaw hanging open, your muscles each frozen solid. The blood is roaring in your ear-drums, embarrassed and afraid for your life all at the same time.   
  
There’s a slight smirk pulling at the edges of its lips, eyes glowing a brilliant shade of gold. It draws its gaze up and down your body with a little snort of air, shaking its head in disdain.   
  
“You humans get pleasure from everything. Pathetic.”   
  
“Hey now, you’re the one that gets pleasure from literally fucking _eating_ people.” Your voice is so high it cracks, skin reddening from the tips of your ears all the way down to your toes.   
  
Pennywise flashes the edges of its teeth in amusement, and the sight sends a bolt of lightning through your gut.   
  
You feel your heavy breathing slowing to normal, somewhat reassured by its demeanor that this isn’t an offense punishable by death. You let the curtain drop down just slightly, enough to reveal the rounded tops of your breasts.   
  
“Why— or what— how... how long were you watching me?”   
  
“I had no choice in the matter of watching you. I have told you before; I see all.”   
  
“Okay.” You shake your head in confusion, letting the thin veil of plastic and fabric fall completely out of the way. “But that doesn’t— it doesn’t mean you have to suddenly appear. It’s like that joke, you know? About how terrified the Kool-Aid Man’s kids must be whenever they jerk off? Just because you can pop into any room you want doesn’t mean you sh— hey, wait, where are you going?”   
  
You pursue it, naked and dripping, all the way into your hallway. Grabbing hold of the elbow of its suit, you capture its attention again. It spins around, glaring darkly despite the baby-blue shade of its irises.   
  
You’ve missed this. Even if it was only gone for a short while, you’ve missed the way things were; annoying it, bothering it, all while it kept its composure. You feel your bravery from days past returning to your core like a fever, excitement at hoping its last vague death-threat was nothing more than part of a game. A crooked smile graces your lips. Things feel normal again. Well, as normal as they can get.   
  
“Fine.” It growls.   
  
“What?”   
  
“I will mate with you.”   
  
“What? No— I-I— you mean _here? Now?”_ You blink at it in shock, panic seeping out through your voice.   
  
“If nothing more than to stop your pathetic whimpering and pining.”   
  
“Holy shit, are you serious?”   
  
The creature gives you an amused look, and you know that it’s only taunting you. Its smile widens when it sees your shoulders drop, senses it’s disappointed you.   
  
You shake your head with a sigh of laughter, reaching over its arm to grab your towel from the closet.

“Oh well. Joke or not; at least I know you’ve gotten comfortable enough to mention the words, ‘mate’ and ‘with you’ in the same sentence. I mean, that’s gotta count for something right?” 

Pennywise turns away again, and this time you let the clown make it all the way all the way to the bottom of the stairs before reaching out again.   
  
“What now?” It hisses, mouth spewing over with venom.   
  
It rips its arm away from you and you can hardly contain your excitement; suddenly filled with an idea to try and see what it truly feels for you beneath that malevolent exterior.   
  
“Nothing really. I just... I just have a question.”


	4. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there’s an OC in here, but just bear with me. It’s not gonna be a huge theme of the rest of the fic, but necessary for this chapter and the plot of the next chapter.

“I just… Well first I just wanted to say that you know, it’s— It’s cool you don’t wanna have sex with me. Like, I get it you know? Different species, different strokes and all that jazz...” You pause to stare down at your feet, feigning innocence with a heel grinding nonchalantly against the carpet. “But I uh... Um...”

You‘re more than aware that you’re running thin on ideas on how to make it miraculously profess its love to you. Fortunately for you, there was finally a word that flashed over and over again in your mind like a neon sign.

And that word, you devious little genius, was _jealousy_.

It’s still glaring at you with the slightest cocking of its brow-line, waiting as patiently as it can for you hurry up and ask your stupid question.

It takes everything in you to make your lips work together with your cotton-dry tongue enough to finally choke out, “So I guess... I guess you won’t care if I uh... If I have sex with someone else? Like... with another human?”

You can see its eyes flicker. In fact it’s so subtle that a part of you wonders if you simply imagined it. Its face doesn’t move for what feels like a whole minute before it closes its eyes and returns to its seat on your sofa.

That’s a no. You know that its answer is an astoundingly hard ‘no.’ It’s as clear to you as a polished glass slipper, a sheet of ice on the cleanest pond in the fucking macroverse.

Too bad that still doesn’t stop you from somehow managing to mistake its silence for a tiny beacon of hope.

“I’m serious, Pennywise. I don’t want you snapping and eating the next guy I bang. You know, out of like— like weird territorial jealousy or something.”

Pennywise tosses its head back and scoffs, thick spit flinging from its mouth. “Stupid child. You think I am envious of the fools you bring into your bed?”

“I mean... _You_ sleep in my bed... Every night, actually.”

Its fingers curl up into fists, and you have to bite your lip from grinning in satisfaction.

Deciding not to press on your small victory, you keep your tongue under control for the rest of the evening. When at last it’s time for bed you simply lie there, the same way you do every night; daring yourself to roll closer towards it but never being stupid enough to try.

It’s too quiet when it sleeps. There’s no breathing or rise and fall of its rib cage. It doesn’t toss and turn, or give off heat beside you. It’s as if it isn’t even fucking there, and for some reason that infuriates you more tonight than it ever has before.

And then of course, there are the thousands of questions racing wildly through your mind.

What would it do if you were to flirt with someone else? Would it look away completely, focus its attention on something worthwhile? Would it watch you, silent? Would it stop you before you’d even started, pull you by the arm and tell you it couldn’t stand seeing you touch someone else? Would it rip you apart, eat you the way it should have all those months ago?

You play with the possibilities again and again in your mind as if they’re something tangible, a conspiracist pinning red yarn to a board. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but no one ever said what it could do to the teratophiliac. No matter the answer, you have to know. You have to. And what better way to find out if a man wants you, than by fucking another man while he watches.

 

_____________________________________________

 

Rubbing the fog from the mirror with the edge of your fist, you carefully study the features of your face. You wonder what it sees— really sees— whenever it looks at you. It told you once before that it sees you only as something to be eaten, but surely you have to be more than that by now. It has to see you as something more. 

It has to, otherwise, what is all of this for? Why does it bother to stay around? Why doesn’t it simply show you its true form, the fucked-up spider-form; and sink its teeth into you the second you cross a line?

All these years spent watching humans, studying their words and their habits. It spends so much time pretending to be a clown, a human. It doesn’t have to do that when it’s with you.

You wonder for a moment what that could mean before a sharp knock at the front door cuts right through your thoughts.

“No!” It’s all you can think to yell; little bells and flashing red lights sounding off in your head.

This is bad. This is really fucking bad.

A strange knock on the door in the middle of the day isn’t usually enough to raise alarm. But a knock on the door when the most vicious killing-machine in the galaxy is sitting on your couch? That’s enough to make your stomach do a kick-flip. 

Your heart falls into your gut when the knocking becomes frantic, and then drops right out of your ass when you hear the doorknob turning open.

“No! Wait! Don’t come inside!”

You’re screaming, frantically pulling on your robe and racing to get down the stairs before the inevitable mauling that’s sure to happen right on your doorstep. Your knees are faltering as you picture yourself cleaning up the blood from the ceiling.

“Fucking stop! Please for the love of God, don’t open the fucking d—”

When you see the empty seat in the center of your couch you feel your shoulders loosen. Your heart is still slamming against the walls of your chest, but the relief of knowing that Pennywise isn’t down here is sweet as can-fucking-be. 

It’s only when you see at last the face of the intruder standing right in your living room that you feel yourself stiffen up again.

“Ricky?” You shake your head, letting out a nervous laugh. “What the fuck?”

“Hey.” He gives you a curt nod before glancing down to press a carton of Turkish Royals deeper into his backpack. “Your door was unlocked.”

“Goddamn it, Ricky! You scared the hell out of me. You can’t— you can’t just fucking walk in here like you own the place!”

“Why not? You have a guy over or something?”

If this had been a few years ago, you would have pushed him back out through the doorway and slammed the door closed without skipping a beat. But here’s the thing: no one stays in Derry after high school. Friends are slim-pickings these days. In the months since you decided to isolate yourself Ricky’s gone from the friend you hang out with when everyone else is busy, to one of the only people left who’ll fucking hang out with you at all.

But hey, he can be funny at times.

And his parents have a pool.

You realize he’s still waiting on you to answer, staring at you expectantly. You snap free from your thoughts, almost having forgotten what he’d even asked in the first place. “Oh! No, I just uh— I just have a roommate now.” 

“A roommate?” Ricky quirks an eyebrow while trying to crane his neck to peer up the stairs behind you. “Is she hot?”

“She’s a man-eater. That’s for sure.”

As expected, Ricky doesn’t get why that’s such a brilliant joke. If he did, you’re sure he’d high-five you right there on the spot. You’re sure of it.

She. Wait a minute. That reminds you of something. What the hell is Pennywise’s actual sex? You know it has a true shape, so what is its true sex? Whenever it turns into things, does it turn into them with anatomical accuracy? Does Pennywise the Dancing Clown even have a dick beneath those silly-looking pants? What if it just has tentac—

“So I have a really important question, and that’s why it was so important that I had rush over here straight away. It’s life or death, so I really need you to hear me out.” 

“Uh... Jesus, okay.” Ricky catches your attention, and you pause for a second to readjust your robe. “What is it?”

“Do you wanna go to a party with me this Thursday?”

“Yes! Absolutely.” Your eyes light up in excitement, before suspicion snuffs them out. “No, wait. Did you just say Thursday? Who the hell has parties on Thursdays?”

“Okay so there’s this girl—“

“God fucking damn it.”

“—And her name’s Crystal... And I really think she wants to hook up with me. But it’s her friend’s party, and it’ll look lame as fuck for me to go alone.”

“A fucking _Thursday_ , Ricky.”  

“No, no, I’m serious; like— like she literally posts herself at parties there almost every night of the week. She said he sells like coke or some shit; so you know he has a huge house. I mean, from what her Snapchats look like, the place is pretty fuckin’ nice on the inside.”

You furrow your brows together so closely they almost touch. Nails digging at the back of your neck, you rock yourself back and forth on your feet.

“I don’t know, Ricky... Don’t people fucking... don’t these people _work_ on Friday?”

“Do you work on Friday?”

“No, but I—“

“Then don’t worry about it.” He brings his hands up to adjust his cap, smearing what you’re sure is cheeto-dust across the dark bill. “We’re young. People have parties during the week. Stop being such a little flower.”

You shoot him an exaggerated sneer before shaking your head, chewing your lip between your teeth. You love parties. You love them especially now that your daily routine has gone a almost completely stagnant. Maybe a party could—

And then it hits you. It’s like a fucking lightbulb flashing on inside your skull.

A party.

A party with _boys._

A party with boys you can use to make Pennywise jealous with.

It’s fucking perfect! You don’t even have to fuck him if you don’t want to. Just grind up on him a bit, maybe even let him swirl his tongue around your mouth in a back hallway; and voila! You’ll have Pennywise wrapped around your devious little finger.

“I’ll buy the alcohol.” Ricky interrupts your thoughts, hands placed out in front of himself to gesture an offering.

You look back up at his face, practically grinning from ear to ear. “You know what? Fuck it. You’ve got a deal. I’m in.”


	5. Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, some triggering content in this chapter. It’s nothing TOO explicit or horrible, but it’s there. Read at your own risk, yo!

You dig your makeup out from its hiding place beneath your sink, hurrying to make yourself look as blurred and as glossy as possible. You love the feeling of getting ready for places after you haven’t dressed up in a while, the way it feels to look at yourself in the mirror and almost feel as if you’re seeing someone else. Fingers crossed for a good hair-day, you comb out your ends and style it; dab on a bit of perfume, and head to rummage through your closet.

It’s the middle of February in Maine, but you could still wear a dress. The party should surely be indoors, and you have a beautifully patterned one that shapes you so nicely. But after looking in the mirror you decide it just doesn’t fit your mood, so you opt for a pair of leggings and a nice sweatshirt instead. It’s not the most fitting party-outfit in the world, but hey, parties on Thursday nights are a lawless place.

You head back into your bathroom to inspect yourself, pretending not to see the angry-red acne sitting proudly at the corner of your chin. You dig through your drawer for the right jewelry to wear, and feel your skin suddenly turn to gooseflesh. It’s the feeling of being watched, of having someone‘s hand just about to brush over you.

“I look like a snack, huh?” You whisper slyly to an invisible Pennywise, doing a little spin in front of the mirror. “I mean, I’m sure all humans look like snacks to you; but damn do I look good.”

Taking a step back you lower your voice, trying your best to sound heartfelt despite your hint of a smirk. “You know, just say the word, and I won’t go. This party’s supposed to be pretty crazy.” You wink into the mirror, teasing it despite knowing it absolutely couldn’t give a shit about where you go or what you do. “I could easily end up going home with someone.”

“I do not care about you or your disgusting mating rituals.”

The sight of it appearing so close behind you makes you jerk so hard you nearly drop an earring down the sink.

“Hey, you must care at least a little bit if I got you to answer me.”

The creature growls, teeth bared.

“Or maybe you could come with us.”

Pennywise looks taken aback at that, eyes widening as though it truly thinks you’re stupid enough to actually ask it to join you at a party.

“We could all get fucked up on Mike’s Hard Lemonade and you can turn into a limo for us to ride around in.” You pause to turn back toward the mirror, wincing as you press the end of your earring through its particularly stubborn hole. “I bet you’d be a blast at a party. I’m sure you’re not called The Dancing Clown for nothing. I’ll bet you do a mean Cotton-Eyed-J— and you’re gone again. Goddamn it.”

You give yourself one last look over, and decide that things are as good as they’re possibly going to get.

Ricky lives about a half an hour away. He had somehow talked you into driving all the way across town to pick him up, and when you glance at the time on your phone you realize you’d better get fucking going.

“Last chance, Pennywise!” You call back into the living room before closing and locking the door. “One... Two... Two and a half...”

Silence, all besides the warbling of the dryer in the laundry room.

“I’m almost at three! There’ll be no going back from there! Gonna suck some guy’s balls tonight and let him finger my— Oh hey Mrs. Baker! I didn’t see you standing there.”

The old lady who lives across the street is frozen where she stands, walking her fluffy little dog across the entrance of your driveway. You give her an awkward little smile before quickly closing the small crack of your door and locking it shut.

She shakes her head in disapproval, keeping her eyes glued onto you until you disappear into the safety of your car. The embarrassment follows you all the way to Ricky’s, parking in his yard behind a car that looks like it hasn’t been used since the last time Pennywise woke again.

After you send him a text that you’re waiting outside you drum your fingers over the steering wheel for what feels like a fucking eternity. He still lives with his parents, and they’re not exactly your biggest fans; so you refuse to go up to the door and risk another awkward confrontation. Instead you decide to do something much more discrete, which is to lay on your horn and roll down your window to screech for him to hurry his shit up.

Yes, fuck, it worked. The knob of his door begins to twist. When at first a second figure steps out of Ricky’s doorway you don’t recognize him, but when you do your entire face lights up in delight.

“Jody!”

You practically leap out of your car, rushing to greet him before he’s even stepped down from the front porch. He wraps you into a hug, the too-strong stench of his cologne completely welcome in your nostrils.

“Holy shit Jody! I haven’t seen you in a fucking dick-year. Are you— Are you coming with us?”

Jody nods happily, pulling away to smile at you. “Yeah! I can’t stay out too long though. So I’m just gonna drive my car and follow you guys there.”

“We’ve still gotta stop at the liquor store.” Ricky murmurs, fishing out a jade-colored carton from the pocket of his jacket. “And we’ve gotta meet Crystal at the standpipe by nine.”

“Wait, is she riding with us too?”

“No, we’re all gonna follow her there.”

You and Jody share a confused glance before both turning to narrow your brows at Ricky.

“But why though?”

“She can’t just tell us the address?”

Ricky offers nothing but a shrug before circling your car and plopping himself inside.

Jody lets out an exasperated chuckle, shaking his head to grin at you again. He still hasn’t gotten the chip in his tooth fixed, and for some reason seeing it after all these months makes your stomach tie up in knots. It’s just like Pennywise’s, so much so that you shove the thought into the darkest recess of your mind and pretend you never even noticed.

Shaking away the shiver from your spine you shoot him a parting wave, then climb into your car to begin your journey to the liquor store.

Jody parks beside you, talking to you from his opened window while Ricky runs inside. When he returns he’s clutching two bags with large bottles in them, and the reminder that you have an excuse to get plastered tonight suddenly puts you in an embarrassingly good mood. You don’t even hear Ricky’s criticisms on your “horrible” driving as you make your way to meet up with Crystal.

“So how’d you meet this girl, Ricky?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You pull your face into a questioning glare before snapping back on the gravel path leading up to the standpipe. At least she’s already here. You’d half-expected to have to wait on her, a little cherry on top of the inconveniences that Ricky always seems to pile up when you go places together. She gives you a little wave, hardly visible from inside of her tinted windows, and as soon as Jody pulls in she turns her car on and motions for you guys to all follow.

When Ricky told you that you’d have to follow her, you assumed the location would be less than five minutes away. You were wrong. You follow her little silver car for what has to be almost forty-five minutes, and from the swerving and veering of her tires you almost wonder if she’d started partying long before she was supposed to.

Ricky, sitting with a leg draped crossways over the other, is a perfect contrast to the frustration that’s boiling inside of you. You start to wonder how Jody must be fairing behind you guys, having no idea what the hell is going on.

As though he somehow managed to read your mind, you catch a glimpse as the screen on Ricky’s phone glows to life in his pocket. Ricky pulls the small rectangle out and hits the gleaming answer button. Immediately Jody’s voice booms through the speaker to ask; “What the fuck is happening? Are we lost?”

Ricky lets out a little snort of air in disdain, reaching to stick an unlit cigarette in the corner of his lips.

“No like, I’m serious, man.” Jody continues, voice breaking up just slightly from the shitty cell-service out here. “If it’s gonna be a lot longer, I’m gonna need to stop somewhere and get gas.”

Crystal, in turn, answers everyone’s prayers by finally turning off onto a slightly thinner road. At last you’re in a neighborhood of sorts, and little butterflies come to life inside of your belly. You can’t remember the last time you went to a party; or even the last time you got drunk somewhere else besides your kitchen-floor.

Then, at last, there’s the promising red sight of Crystal’s break lights as she slows to a stop.

“Holy shit.” That’s all Jody can say as the car pulls into the driveway of one of the biggest houses you’ve ever seen anywhere near Derry.

You perk up in your seat, smiling wide as you prepare to take off your seatbelt; but it’s all fucking ruined when Crystal peaks her head out of the window and motions for everyone to back out again.

“Jesus Christ she pulled into the wrong fucking house. Goddamn it.” Jody complains, prompting another unfazed eye-roll from Ricky. “That place looked so nice too.”

You and Jody both groan in unison as she turns out back into the main street, and accidentally pulls into the wrong driveway yet again.

Then again.

Then again.

And again.

By now you’re practically sweating, frustrated beyond belief that Ricky insisted everyone follow her there instead of her just dropping a pin. It’s when she turns onto a different street entirely that you completely lose your cool.

“Is this party in fucking Narnia? Why the hell can’t she find it? You said she comes here all the time.”

Ricky keeps his stone-cold demeanor, even as she turns onto an even smaller street— one that’s so old and dilapidated it looks like something from a fucking horror movie. Crystal’s car slows down to a stop, and you swear to God if she’s about to tell you guys to back out again you’re going to fucking rip your steering wheel off and fling it like a—

Wait.

What the fuck?

“This isn’t it.” You murmur, but something in your gut tells you that it is. “No. This isn’t it. It can’t be.”

Even Ricky’s eyes widen at the strange sight in the distance; a tiny trailer with flashing lights resting at the top of a hill surrounded by woods. You can hear the soft thumping of music and muted cries of party-goers, and you shake your head in disbelief.

There’s soft chime that rings out from Ricky’s phone, letting you know that the call to Jody has failed. Of course. No cell-service.

There’s a tap at the back side-door, and you unlock your car to let Jody hop inside.

“Look— No offense to trailers in the middle of nowhere, Ricky; but this isn’t exactly what I expected when you told me the guy’s house was huge.”

“A trailer... In the middle of the woods... A party at a trailer on a Thursday nigh— is this even real? Are we even real? Have we transcended? Is this what we’ve become?”

Eventually Ricky manages to shake himself out of the initial shock of realizing this won’t be a typical house-party by any means. He straightens his jacket, opens the car door, and finally lights up the stupid fucking cigarette hanging out from the corner of his lips.

“Jesus, what’s wrong with you guys?” Ricky asks smugly, winking before turning to follow Crystal up the hill towards the woods. “Never been to a stranger’s party in a trailer on a Thursday night with no cell-service before?”

The three of you make your way into the small stretch of forest that surrounds the trailer, thankful the ground has frozen over enough to spare your converse from getting soaked. Crystal walks ahead with such grace and composure, obvious she does this all the time and doesn’t think anything of it.

Jody leans in close enough so Crystal can’t hear, the stench of weed wafting off his clothes as he whispers, “If I hear even one banjo string my ass is out of here.”

Even Ricky can’t help but chuckle. “You know... If I ever had to predict how I would die, getting tricked into an actual Texas Chainsaw Massacre by a cute girl would definitely be on top of the list.”

“I feel like this is more of a Blair Witch Project type deal.” You jibe quietly.

“Eh... Wrong Turn. Or maybe even The Hills Have Eyes.”

Jody grins as the four of you reach the top of the hill at last. With what it sounds like, there’s only a few other people here. You hope you’re wrong, you hope maybe the inside of the trailer is bigger than you’d expected; but when Crystal presses open the door all of your fears are solidified.

Boy, if Pennywise knows anything about parties; he sure is fucking laughing right now.

First of all, there only about a dozen other people here, and that’s being generous. The inside of the trailer smells like manure, with no furniture besides a piss-ridden couch and ping-pong table that looks like it‘s seen more than any ping-pong table should ever have to see. The movie Sausage Party is playing silently on a rabbit-eared television while old Nelly songs blast obnoxiously from an unknown source, and besides Crystal you are the only girl here. Typically that wouldn’t be as big of an issue as it is, but you quickly see that there’s not one person here you find even remotely worth hooking up with. Not one person. Not one.

“Well, this party sucks.” It’s Ricky who breaks you free from your thoughts, breath tickling your ear as he leans in close. “Guess it’s time to break out Ole Reliable.”

He walks over to the nearest counter and clears a space, hoisting up the two heavy plastic bags he’d gotten at the liquor store. He pulls the covering down over the container closest to you, a large clear bottle with yellow and green stickers.

Jody makes a sound of approval, clapping Ricky on the back as he moves in closer.

“Wait, what is this?”

“Gin.” Jody answers enthusiastically, as though it’s the greatest gift ever to ever be put on this earth.

Ricky nods. “You’re supposed to use grapefruit juice or orange juice, or something like that. But the gas station didn’t have those. So I decided to improvise— and got something even better.”

You and Jody erupt into laughter when Ricky proudly reveals a gallon of Sunny-D from the confines of its plastic bag.

“God, we really know how to party in style.”

The laugh Jody lets out is infectious, little bubbles of sound raising up high over the old Niykee Heaton song that you swear has already played through once.

Ricky unscrews the cap and pulls a red solo-cup out of seemingly nowhere. He pours a generous amount of gin into the bright yellow mixer, readying to put it to his mouth.

“What does gin even taste like?”

You stare curiously at the heavy bottle marked ‘Heaven Hill’, spinning it around in your hands.

“It’s good. Try it.” Ricky nudges his too-full cup towards your lips, nearly spilling it over the edge as he urges you to drink it.

You don’t even have time to smell it, to test how strong it really is before Ricky’s tipping it forward and assaulting your taste-buds with the most ungodly thing you think you’ve ever sipped before.

“Garbage!” You exclaim in disgust, wanting to rub your tongue against the carpet to get the taste out of your mouth. “Fucking pine needles!”

“Oh fine— just give it back here, you big baby. You should have told me you didn’t like things that are good.”

This fucking blows. It takes everything in you not to vomit up your dinner, grimacing and shaking your head. You’re pretty sure the last party you ever attended sober was in grade-school. There goes your last chance to save this night from being an absolute shitshow.

“Why are you so sad? You’re a girl.”

“What?”

You turn to stare at Jody, face screwed up in confusion.

“One of the _only_ girls.” He gestures toward a group of guys standing in the corner, taking shots from a bottle of Patrón, and just like that you finally catch his drift.

Vaginas are like free coupons for alcohol. If you wipe that scowl off of your face, maybe, just maybe, you can get a taste of something that won’t activate your gag-reflex.

Some time passes as you and Jody catch up, and after a while you both start trying to mingle with some of the other people here. At least everyone seems to be about your age, and you’re thrilled to see that other people are continuing to arrive in groups as time goes on.

After talking to a few of the less shady-looking people here, you’re able to discern that the owner of the alcohol you have your eyes on is also the owner of the trailer. That puts a little more pep in your step, reasoning that he probably has more than just a half-empty bottle. Maybe he even has Mike’s Hard Lemonade. You can’t know until you ask though.

You take a step towards the group of guys standing against the wall, but you feel yourself hesitate.You wouldn’t go as far enough to describe yourself as a mean person, but sometimes.... sometimes people just look like actual animals. And the owner of this trailer? Well, he looks exactly like a tiny little rat. Two beady black eyes, paper-white skin, crooked teeth that spill over the edges of his lips. He looks positively creepy— like someone you’d expect to sell drugs and throw parties on Thursday nights. You shake it off though, swallowing down your judgmental thoughts. Because hey, if you’re going to get any of that tequila, you had better fucking lay on the charm.

“Hey!” You exclaim with a smile, reaching forward to lightly brush your fingertips over the black hair on his arm. “Do you live here?”

Your touch catches him by surprise, but when he takes in the sight of you his eyes brighten.

“I do.” He smiles, then gestures towards the countertop towards the vast array of bottles. “Would you like a drink?”

“Oh my gosh _yes_ thank you so much for asking!” You reply enthusiastically, as if the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind.

He guides you over to the edge of the ping-pong table, and clumsily pours about two shots worth of tequila into a plastic cup.

“Now see what you do is, you lick the salt, right? Then you take the shot, then you suck on the lime. Can you do that?”

It takes everything in you not to reply sarcastically— not to let him know that you are a fucking tequila-drinking-veteran and this is kindergarten to you. Instead you nod politely, and toss that shit back like it’s nothing but water.

The first shot burns, but you turn and smile sheepishly to ask if you can have another. You can see the surprise in his face, but he pours you shot after shot until you think it’s probably best to wait and see how these do.

It doesn’t take long for them to start hitting you. The sharp lines of people’s faces start to soften, and the bright lights of the little kitchen start to glow even brighter.

Jody comes back from God-knows-where, pinching your elbow as he comes to stand beside you.

“Is there like... an aux cord... somewhere around here?”

“Yeah, this is all my own party playlist.” The owner of the trailer answers, his southern accent even more obvious now that he’s starting to get drunk. “Pretty sweet, huh? Everyone’s always complimenting it.”

Jody shoots you a glance, lips pressed hard together in an attempt not to burst out laughing.

“Awful.” You mouth back, once the owner isn’t looking at you.

Maybe this party isn’t so bad. There really are a lot of people here, and compared to some of the dank-ass-basement-frat-parties you’ve been to, a camper really isn’t all that absurd.

At about six shots in, you start wondering if there really is anyone here at the party that you’d be willing to blow. After looking around at each person here, you’re sorely disappointed to see that the most likely candidate for a good dick-sucking would probably be Jody. And after watching Jody drunkenly attempt to dab in the middle of the kitchen, that’s honestly saying a lot.

_God, why won’t Pennywise just fuck me?_

“What, you mean the clown?”

You spin around in horror, and realize you’ve asked the question aloud. Some guy with taped-together glasses is staring at you, but from his amused expression you can tell he simply thinks you were trying to be funny. 

“Who knows. Could have something to do with the fact he doesn’t _exist?_ ” The guy swishes around the contents of his solo-cup, ginger eyebrow cocked just slightly.

“What makes you think he doesn’t exist?” Jody’s arm brushes up against you as he comes to stand practically in between the two of you. “Ever looked up how many people go missing in Derry each year?”

“Oh Pennywise is real for sure.” The owner of the trailer chimes in, face pressed a little too close to the back of your neck. “He’s not a fuckin’ monster though; just some serial killer who gets off on dressing up like a clown.” 

“That’s John Wayne Gayce, you idiot.” Someone else answers. “There’s no serial killer in Derry, there never has been.”

“No way. I saw him once.” It’s another guy speaking now, voice muffled slightly by the patch of tobacco in his lip. “When I was a little kid. Big motherfucker— tried to get me to take a balloon from him.”

“You are so full of shit.”

The conversation dies after that, but you can’t help but grin as you look around the room. It’s like you have the craziest secret in the world tucked tightly inside of your mind, and it’s no one else’s but yours. No one else knows that Pennywise is real, or that it can shape-shift, or that it’s immortal, or that it lives in your fucking house. No one else knows how much it likes to sleep, or what scary movies it likes best, or how sometimes it— fuck you have to stop. You’re just making yourself sad now.

You do another loop through the party, smiling at Ricky as he tries desperately to flirt with the girl he came here for. Making your way back inside you even notice Jody’s hitting it off with a girl— a tall brunette who keeps touching his forearm. He catches you staring and you shoot him a wink, despite the sharp pang of emptiness that erupts in your belly. 

It doesn’t help the fact that alcohol always makes you insatiable, but goddamn it if you don’t miss physical affection. Even if it doesn’t get Pennywise’s attention, it’ll still feel so fucking good to have someone’s hands on you like that again.

You lower your standards and skim the faces of the guys one more time before throwing in the towel, and it feels like a fucking gift from heaven when you spot a guy you hadn’t seen in here before.

Maybe he just got here. Maybe it’s the tequila. Either way, who gives a shit? You draw your eyes over his dark curls and painfully adorable glasses and decide you want him inside of you right fucking now.

“Hey!” Your voice comes out louder than you had expected when you approach him, sure to angle your face to show your good side.

“Hey there.”

He smiles warmly, despite looking completely sober. He wears a huge jacket over his already-thick hoodie, jeans rolled up tightly past his socks. He doesn’t look like he belongs here, but you suppose a lot of other people here don’t either. His voice is deep and soothing, and when he introduces himself you forget his name right after it spills from his mouth.

“So what brings you here?”

You gesture to Ricky and Jody, to which he follows up by asking which one is your boyfriend. When you tell him they’re just your friends his eyes light up, and it sends a surge of hope right into the space between your legs.

Now, how do you politely ask a guy if he wants to follow you to the backseat of your car and rail you like a freight-train?

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom, will you watch my drink for me?”

The curly-headed boy’s words cut through your thoughts like a knife through butter. You snap out of your drunken haze to grab the solo cup offered out towards you, waving stupidly as he disappears into the opposite hallway of the trailer.

You let out a little sigh of disappointment, immediately realizing your heart just isn’t in the right place. It’s not fair to use someone else just to make someone— something— jealous, no matter how desperate you are to get that thing to show that it cares. You’re better off just repressing your feelings until it goes to sleep again for thirty years, going out into the woods by yourself with a twelve-pack, and screaming into the sky. You know, like a _normal_ person.

You feel your shoulders drop as you turn to look for Jody and Ricky, and feel arms snake around the front of your belly. Panic surges through you when you feel yourself being lifted, carried into the bedroom at the back of the trailer. You’re thrown down onto the bed before you can realize what’s happening, and a body makes its way between your legs.

“Wait, what—“

“I knew you wanted to fuck me. Ever since you got here; been giving me those eyes all night.” You recognize the accent of the guy who owns the trailer, breath reeking of tequila and skunked beer as it wafts into your face. “It’s okay though, I’d rather be in here away from everyone anyway.” 

Oh Jesus. Nope. Nope, to the utmost extent.

You let out the most awkward excuse for a laugh that your drunken body can muster before firmly pressing him off of you. Thank God you opted to wear so many thick layers instead of a tiny dress; you would have had to feel his skin against your own. A shiver dances up and down your spine at the thought.

You’re out of the room in a flash, still rubbing at your arms in a desperate attempt to wipe off the way it felt to be grabbed without your consent. Thank fuck you’re able to instantly find your friends, feeling safer now that you’re right next to them.

“Did you guys fucking see that?”

“No, what happened?”

“That guy just fucking—“ You pause for a moment, realizing how loud and frantically you’re speaking before lowering your voice into a whisper, “— That guy just tried to physically pick me up and take me into the bedroom with him. He literally laid me down on the bed and everything.”

“Jesus Christ are you serious?” The shocked exclamation comes from Jody. You can see the genuine concern on his face, dark brows furrowing together beneath the brim of his ball-cap. “Do you wanna leave? I can take you home with me when I go, I can—“

“It’s okay, I don’t... I don’t wanna leave my car and then Ricky, he—“

“She’s fine.” Ricky turns to look at you, but it’s not dismissal in his voice. It’s empathy, something you don’t hear there very often. “You’re fine. I‘ll watch you. I won’t let him be weird to you again.”

His words come as a relief, and you brush off that creepy incident just like you would any other. You take a couple sips from the jug of Ricky’s Sunny Delight, and you return back to your old party-mode.

“This has actually been way better than I expected.” Jody comments, tapping his feet to the music. “I got a cute girl’s number, no one tried to harvest my organs, and I got to do something other than sit at home watching South Park.”

“No offense Jody, but your life fucking sucks.” Ricky jokes back, voice free of any malice. 

You’re always shocked to see how much Ricky can actually drink without ever getting drunk. You’re not even sure if you’ve ever seen him tipsy, but you’ve watched him almost singlehandedly empty that entire bottle of gin tonight. If only you had a tolerance like that.

“They have a bonfire going in the backyard.” Jody mentions, brows raised as if to urge you guys into joining him out there.

Ricky rolls his eyes, sure to let everyone know he’s somehow too cool to go and sit by a fire, but the two of you follow Jody outside anyway.

The air is frigid, but the flames are going steady. There are plenty of discarded plastic chairs laying all around, and the three of you huddle together in a spot away from everyone else.

“Hey Ricky, has anyone ever told you that you look just like—

“If you say Lil Dicky I’m gonna fucking break your arm.”

“— Lil Dicky.”

Ricky shoots you a murderous glare, but you and Jody burst out laughing anyway.

All things considered, this has been a good night. So maybe you didn’t make Pennywise jealous, but you at least reminded yourself that you’re okay going places without him. Wait, it. You always forget it’s not actually a human.

“I had fun with you guys tonight.” You tell the others, at risk of sounding sentimental.

Ricky offers his best excuse for a smile, and Jody nods his head happily.

“Me too. I’m gonna have to go soon though.”

“Yeah, once I start sobering up more I think we’re gonna head out too.” Ricky pauses to turn to you. “Is it cool if I crash on your couch?”

You open your mouth to answer, and you end up hurling all over the grass in front of you. The next few minutes are all a blur, your friends dragging you inside to the bathroom by your underarms. Fuck, you guess all that tequila finally caught up to you.

You puke for what feels like forever, begging everyone to close the door to save yourself from the embarrassment. You can already feel the hangover coming like a fucking thief in the night.

Oh well. Maybe if you get it all out now you won’t have to worry about getting sick again in the morning.

“Hey.” You look up from the toilet to see Jody crouching over you. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay if I leave?”

The muscles in your stomach contract again, and you feel another wave of vomit pushing its way out of your mouth. You turn your head weakly to press the side of your face flush against the porcelain, too weak to think about how disgusting it is.

“What? Oh, yeah no I’ll— I’ll be fine. The guy who owns the place, he’s... Yeah. I’m okay now.” 

“I told Ricky he’s not allowed to leave you alone. Like at all. He’s outside talking to that girl Crystal, I think he’s telling her goodbye.”

You nod weakly before turning back to face the reeking white bowl of shame. You’re pretty sure you even fall asleep there for a while, waking up again curled up on the tiles.

Your head is already splitting, but at least you feel a little more sober. It takes all the strength you have to use the edge of the sink to lift yourself up, stumbling out of the bathroom.

“Ricky?”

You scan the couch and floor, thankful to see the owner of the trailer passed out snoring in front of the television. At least now you don’t have to worry about him not leaving you alone.

“Ricky! Where are you at?”

Oh God, where the fuck is he? 

You check around the outside of the trailer, even back inside the bathroom; but he’s nowhere to be found. Perfect. Just like Ricky to leave you alone piss-drunk with a bunch of strangers.

You decide your best bet now is to just grab your keys, go out into your car, lock the doors, and sleep it off until you’re good to drive. Sure it’s freezing, but if you turn your car on every so often you should be fine. Just gotta grab your keys and you’re— fuck. Your sweatshirt pocket is completely keyless. It must have fallen out when that creep tossed you onto the bed.

Shaking your head and cursing Ricky all the way, you stumble into the empty room. This guy’s floor is disgusting, and when you have to search on your hands and knees behind the skirt of the mattress you remind yourself not to touch your face when you curl up in your car to sleep.

At last your wandering fingers strike against your keychain. You pull them in close to your chest like a fucking crucifix, so thankful at the promise of finally getting out of here.

You sit down on the bed to rest your legs as you open up your phone, hoping the one bar of service will be enough to check your maps and see just how far you really are from home. Just a couple hours of resting, and this party will be nothing more than an inside joke. You and Jody and Ricky will all laugh about it tomorrow at some restaurant, and it’ll be—

The sound of the door creaking open beside you makes you jump. A group of boys stand in the doorway, probably trying to sleep in the bed instead of on the floor with the others.

“Oh shit.” You close your phone and slide it into your back pocket, smiling sheepishly before straightening the bottom of your sweatshirt. “Sorry, I dropped my keys in here and I—“

“Hey, I remember you.” One of the boys comes in closer, and in the lamplight of the room you recognize his curls and glasses. “You didn’t watch... You didn’t watch my drink. And someone... Someone took it.”

There’s a slur to his words, and it’s obvious now that he’s drunk. He moves in to stand in front of you, grinning down as you stay seated on the bed.

“Oops.” You fake a wince, trying to be polite but ready to leave at the same time. “Sorry.”

“S’kay. I’ll let it go cuz you’re— cuz you’re so pretty. Isn’t she pretty, guys?”

The other boys let out a chorus of mumbles, all agreeing in approval.

Well, this is awkward. You’re not quite sure where to go from here.

“I’ve gotta go uh... I’ve gotta go meet my friends.”

The curly-headed boy clumsily cocks his head to the side, bottom-lip pulled into a pout. “Awwwe, don’t be like that. My boys and I think... We you’re really pretty. It’s a compliment... So many boys thinking you’re so pretty.”

“I uh... I have puke in my hair.” For some reason it’s all you can think to say.

“We don’t care.” This time it’s someone else who’s talking, voice higher and more gravelly.

You jerk your head to stare at him before another boy speaks again, murmuring out, “Don’t be nervous.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Just let it happen.”

“We won’t hurt you.”

“We’ll be gentle.”

“We swear.”

Your eyes are bouncing wildly around the room now, heart thudding from how uncomfortable you are. It takes you a moment to calm yourself, to be able to speak over the roaring of blood in your ears. All you can do is laugh awkwardly before trying to stand up again.

“No, no, I’m sorry... I had a lot of fun though. Maybe next time I come over we can d—“ As soon as your ass leaves the bed you feel yourself shoved right back down, and the force of it reaffirms exactly what you were horrified of.

You draw your limbs in closer to yourself, searching each of their dimly-lit faces for something, anything. A tremor racks your frame, hands shaking as you ball them up into tiny fists.

“Please.” You begin, already feeling yourself on the verge of sobbing from the alcohol, “P-please. I just wanna go home. I’m not in the mood, I’m not— I just started my period and I—“

“She really talks a lot, huh?”

“She sure does.”

One of the boys closes the door, and the clicking sound it makes is like a fucking gunshot to the heart. You feel the tears spilling hot over your cheeks, jerking away as someone runs a hand through the back of your hair.

“Stop.” You try and make it sound like a warning, but instead it just sounds like a broken plea.

The bed dips down behind you. You feel someone tugging to pull off your sweatshirt, and oh my god, this is happening. This horrible, unspeakable thing that isn’t supposed to happen— and it’s happening to you. 

The blood that just ran hot through your veins has now slushed over into ice water. Everything seems slower, and even though you’re still crying and begging them not to do this you can’t even hear the words as they rush out of your mouth. You close your eyes, and you wait for it to all be over.

“I just wanna go home. I just wanna go home. I just wanna—“

When at first you hear a shriek, you have no idea what the fuck could be happening. You look up to see the face of the guy you’d once tried to flirt with, eyes widened to the size of saucers and staring at something behind you. He opens his mouth once more to scream, but before he can get the sound out the lamp bursts; sending you all into darkness. It sounds like a demon, some horrifying animal clawing and gnashing its teeth into flesh. You can hear their broken off cries and pleas, turning into gurgles before dead-silence.

A deep growl vibrates behind your head. There’s red behind your eyes, lighting up the blackness, drowning you in fear. You squeeze your eyes shut, afraid the lights will come back on and you’ll have to see the things you don’t want to think about lying on the floor around you. No one else in this room is alive anymore, you can feel it. You smell the iron stench of their blood and something coils inside of your gut like a snake. There’s no one else in here but you, and the creature. You can’t see it, won’t look at it; and when it touches you you jump, heart rising up in your throat. 

“Here.” It reaches out, and the silk of its glove swallows your hand when you take it into your own.

“Wh-What are you gonna do to me?” Your voice is broken, nothing more than a whisper.

 _”Here.”_ It repeats, a little more stern this time.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Home, Child. I am taking you home.”


	6. Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a hard time coping with what happened that night in the trailer. You blame the deaths on yourself, and can’t stop seeing Pennywise as nothing more than a dangerous murderer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of angst and misdirected-blame in this chapter. Dark theme over all and some VERY triggering language used toward the end, but I promise nothing else will be this dark from here on out.

It’s been a week. You’ve used up every one of your vacation-days, holing yourself up in the bathroom so you don’t ever have to go near it. You’ve set up an old portable DVD player on the sink, stocked a mini-fridge by the toilet, and gathered up every blanket in the house to make a surprisingly comfortable bed inside of the bathtub. Too bad all the orange soda and Rick & Morty reruns in the world still can’t distract you from the shards of glass burrowing in your gut.

You don’t know how your car ever got back here. It’s just been sitting proudly in the driveway as if nothing ever happened. Normally the thought of the clown actually knowing how to drive a car and cruising carefully down the street would send you into hysterics, but not today though. It doesn’t even make you crack a smile.

You haven’t heard from Ricky again. You’re not even sure if he’s still alive, or if you’d even want to see his face after the way he fucking left you there. Fuck Ricky. You know it’s not his fault, not really; but fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.

_Fuck him._

It’s hard not to think about it. In fact, it’s impossible not to think about it; that red and white elephant in the room. When it started visiting you, started staying with you— you hadn’t expected things to get so fucking dark. You thought its horrifying outburst and threats to kill you were nothing but some weird form of banter. You overlooked that severed hand in your fridge as if it was a goddamn Halloween prop. You live in this little bubble, always; thinking that things will be fine and nothing can hurt you and life is a party and everything is just one funny joke and the child-murderer on your couch is just a big ‘ole sweetie underneath it all and holy shit you’re so fucking stupid. You’re so fucking stupid.

You’ve never been a fan of feeling sorry for yourself, but given the circumstances you think maybe you’re allowed to just this once. After a week of restless sleep, plagued with nothing but nightmares; only to wake up and realize the nightmare is still inside your fucking house.

That person who wore lingerie to bed with it, that doesn’t even feel like you anymore. The memory makes your heart race, knowing how easily it could have snapped on you. You’re like one of those stupid people who lock orcas in cages and get surprised when the orca fucks around and kills somebody. It’s not the orcas fault. It’s the dumb-fuck who tried to make it act like a pet.

No matter how hard you want it to be, that creature is not cotton candy and popcorn and Netflix and nights staring at the stars talking about how different you are and what its home was like. It’s a prehistoric beast that hungers for flesh, a thing that would eat you in a heartbeat if you didn’t bring it some fucked-up form of entertainment. It doesn’t give a shit about you, or any human life whatsoever. It’s a killer. And it killed because of _you._

Oh look, now you’re crying. Again.

You wish it would just leave. You wish it would take its long rest again, or better yet find another town to torment so that you never have to see it again; but the bitter truth of it is that you still need something from it. You’ve just been too much of a little bitch to go back out into the living room and and ask what you need to ask.

God, why is it so hard for you to just be a normal person? Why couldn’t you have told someone, sought help when a malevolent horror staked a claim in your living room? Why couldn’t you have just moved, ran away and never looked back? Why do you do these reckless and destructive things out of boredom? Why do you push things until they’re about to break?

_Why did you have to go to that party?_

You pass out again in the tub, drunk on Nesbitts and vodka; and when you wake up with a bug crawling over your face you decide you’ve had enough of this. It’s time to open the door. It’s time to make this all go away.

The sound of your footsteps on the stairs are deafening. Before you’ve even made it downstairs you can sense that it isn’t here, and you can’t stop the little sigh of relief that comes with knowing that. The air is nice though, after spending an entire week in a humid enclosed space, so you relish this little moment of aloneness as best as you can.

You wring your hands together, sweat beading at the back of your neck. You don’t want to do it, you don’t want to have to say its name, but you call out to it anyways.

“P-Pennywise?”

Jesus. It appears so suddenly, like a fucking phantom in the kitchen. It sits there, cross-legged on the counter, so tall its hair is nearly scraping against the ceiling.

It stares at you expectantly, amber eyes flashing as it looks you over.

“I just... there’s something... there’s something I want to...”

“Go on, Child.”

Your throat goes empty, hearing its voice again. You can’t even remember what you wanted from it, in that moment. All you can think about is where it’s been, and if it’s been murdering anymore people since the night it brought you home.

“Nothing— I just... It’s nothing.”

You run back upstairs to your insane little hovel, turn on the sink to mask the sound, and sob hysterically into the pillows.

This goes on for two more days. You build yourself up a little more each time, telling yourself that this is your only way to get rid of the guilt and pain inside you.

It’s always downstairs now, resting on the couch, watching that shitty censored horror-movie channel that you’ve always despised. It hardly even looks at you, which is to be expected, but there’s something different about it now. You don’t know how to explain it. You’re probably just reading too much into it anyway.

You decide for the fourth and final time that today is the day at last. Then that day becomes the evening, and that evening into the night.

You finish off the rest of the vodka, because maybe that’ll help keep your hands from shaking this time.

Everything feels heavy now. It’s like a thick mist has settled over all the places in your house, dragging everything down and turning it grey. It doesn’t feel like home anymore— that’s the best way you can describe it.

“Hey.” You murmur, absent-mindedly wrapping your arms around yourself. “Is it okay if I s-sit here?”

It gives you the faintest of shrugs, pale eyes glued onto the screen.

You’re sure it has to be at least 2 a.m. It’s never been down here this late before, or even been awake past the exact moment the sun goes down behind the horizon. It’s an odd thing, seeing it sitting in your living room in the dark for the first time. You suppose you don’t like seeing it in the dark at all anymore, though.

“So there’s um... There’s something I’ve been wanting to— to ask you about.”

It gives you a quick side-glance to let you know that it’s listening. You swallow down the hard lump in your throat, voice wavering as you continue on. 

“Your powers... I know that you have the power to— the power to make people forget. You can make parents not care... You can make the police blind to what’s happening... And I know— I _know_ you can... can make people forget things...”

You pause for a while, feeling tears well up in your eyes. It takes everything in you not to let them out, not to sob into your knees and forget what you even wanted from it.

You move to sit on the floor, facing it, making sure it has to meet your eyes when you ask this next part. Hands clasped together without thinking, you lean forwards and stare up at it like a begging little girl. It’s the smallest you’ve ever felt; helpless and chilled to the bone over something you’d once thought you were falling in love with.

“So can... C-can you...” You have to stop to swallow, thick spit clinging to the walls of your throat. “Can you make me forget?”

The look that washes over its face is like nothing you’ve ever seen. It looks as though it’s seen a ghost, leaning back and away just slightly in its seat.

The floodgates open almost immediately, the tears that threatened to fall finally bursting over and spilling down your neck. When you speak again your voice is hoarse, blubbering.

“I hear those sounds... every night when I’m trying to sleep. I can still smell their blood... that smell... of them dying... I heard their bones... The sounds of their—“ You have to throw a fist up to your mouth, stifling a violent gag at the memory. “Their fucking _bones_ cracking. I don’t want to hear it anymore, the way you killed them all. I want it gone, Pennywise. Please. I just— I just want it gone.”

After wiping your eyes with the edge of your sleeve you look up to find it has disappeared. Its sudden absence takes you by surprise, and just when you’re about to stand to run upstairs you hear a glass break in the kitchen.

Horrified and confused, you reluctantly follow the source of the noise. Pennywise is standing there, facing away from you, palms pressed flat against the counter. There’s tension in its shoulders, heaving slowly up and down.

Your foot creaks against one of the hardwood panels, but it still doesn’t turn around to face you.

“Do you know what they would have done to you if I had not devoured them?”

“I just—“

“Do you _know?”_

It spins around to face you again, and this time its eyes are filled red with hellfire. The sight makes you jerk, stepping backward over the line that separates the kitchen from the living room.

It calms itself back down by itself, curled up fingers relaxing and dropping down to its sides. It shakes its head, moving in a little closer.

“I do.” You can tell from its face it takes no pleasure in what it’s saying, no matter how dark and rasped its words may be. “I could see it all— every horrible thing they would have afflicted upon you. I can still _see it._ I can _hear it._ I can _smell it.”_

For some reason, that hits like a fist to the face. You look up at it; eyes stinging, hands starting to shake.

“St-Stop it, Pennywise. Don’t fucking... Don’t even fucking say that. I can’t— I can’t deal with—”

“It is true. You know it to be true. They would have raped you, child. All of them.”

“Please. Just st-stop.”

“They would ravaged you.”

“Stop!”

“Soiled you. Taken you. Fucked you until you bled. They would have taken their turns—“

“I said fucking _stop it!”_

You don’t even think about it when you slap it. Your mind doesn’t consider even for a second the consequences before striking the palm of your hand against the curve of its cheek. When you realize what you’ve done, you back away; as far against the other side of the wall as you can fucking get.

It doesn’t pursue you. It doesn’t slam you against the floor, lift you by your neck and rip off your limbs like a fly.It simply looks down, wipes the thumb of its glove over a tiny drip of grey liquid as it races down the corner of its mouth, then stares at it for a moment.

“I killed them,” Pennywise begins, eyes still fixated on the smear on its silken fabric, “not because it pleased me... Though oh, how it did _please_ me...” It trails off, then stares back up at you with those round sky-colored eyes again. “I killed them not because it pleased me, but because I needed to. I had to keep them from touching you.” Its voice lowers, as close to a whisper as it can possibly manage. “I had to keep them from hurting you.”

And in that moment, that fucking crystal-clear moment, it feels like the entire world has come to a halt. Pennywise is not the monster here. Neither are you. It knew what they were going to do to you beyond a shadow of a doubt, and it kept it from happening.

It protected you. It could have just turned its head but it didn’t. It fucking _saved_ you. 

“Pennywise,” you begin, voice stronger and steadier than it’s been in a week. “What you did... Do you... Do you _care_ about me?”

It hesitates. It’s never seemed so human before. You can see the coils turning in its mind, jaw clenching and unclenching beneath the drape of its ivory skin.At last it answers, with sincerity in its voice.

_“Yes.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez this was a hard chapter to write but don’t worry, we’re done with the really dark shit. I mean, it’s a fic about a child-eating clown so there’s still gonna be some questionable stuff mentioned later on but nothing else non-con related!! Anyways heyyo thanks a ton for reading! If you enjoyed this fic don’t forget to check out my others and please give me feedback my family is dying goodnight love u


	7. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of time has passed since that talk in your kitchen. Your relationship with Pennywise has gone back to normal, and you finally decide to address what it said to you.

“What do you wanna watch next?”

“Cave.”

“No.”

“Cave.” It repeats enthusiastically, rocking back and forth in its seat.

“No! I’m— I’m putting my foot down. We’re not watching The Descent again. I fucking— No. We’re not doing it.”

Pennywise turns to frown at you with one of its eyes burning shallow holes into your skull, the other wandering somewhere over to the left. Drool hangs down in a thick line from the edge of its chin, slicking the yellowed points of its fangs. It’s having one of those moments, one of those strange little glitches where the primal part of it seeps through the cracks in its form.

You let out a groan, feeling your resolve weakening by the second. “Fine, whatever. We’ll... Wait. You know what? No. We’re not watching it. You wouldn’t even finish that episode of The X-Files with me last night.”

“It was stupid.” It snarls, snapping out of its trance and shaking its head violently in disgust. “And vile.”

“You just hate it because the humans lived.” You roll your eyes, turning all the way to face the side of it. “I really thought you’d like it, you know? It was about a monst— It was about a creature... like you. You know, one that can become anyone’s biggest fear.”

“A creature like me.” It mocks, in a voice that hopefully doesn’t actually sound anything like your own. “Stupid. There are no others like me.”

You respond with a shrug. Nestling down into your seat on the couch beside it, you wrap yourself up tightly in the covers before jolting up again.

“Wait! That reminds me actually, so there’s this thing in Harry Potter—“

 _“Cave.”_

“Jesus Christ fine! We’ll watch the fucking cave movie. But this is it! I’m not— I’m not fucking doing it again. This is the last time.”

Pennywise turns to face towards the television, grinning wickedly in satisfaction. Normally a look like that would only ignite the urge inside of you to annoy it some more, but today you decide to just let it go.

You slide the disc into the player without anymore objection, or even a sarcastic word before pressing ‘start’. Deep down you really don’t mind watching this movie again, not since after it finally confirmed it gives a shit about you.

“You know... We still haven’t talked about—“

The clown hisses in an attempt to silence you. Even still you can catch the quick flash of surprise in its eyes, like a bolt of lightening before disappearing. It’s pretending to be invested in the movie, but you know it doesn’t give a shit about the too-happy introduction.

“—what happened the other night in the kitchen.”

You scoot in a little closer in your blanket-cocoon, still surprised it’s been allowing you to finally sit on the couch with it instead of the lazy-boy at the other end of the living room.

“I’m sorry that I hit you.” You confess.

Pennywise lets out a giggle, a small burst of laughter rising into the air like bubbles. “You are a fool to think you could ever harm a thing like me.”

“Oh, fuck off. It’s not about whether or not I hurt you. It’s the principle.”

“Are you finished speaking now?”

“No.” You give it an exaggerated sneer before leaning to rest your head on the arm of the couch. “But I’ll wait until the next part’s over.”

Pennywise’s eyes light up like two diamonds when the characters first begin spiraling into panic; and it’s so fucking cute you have to look away to keep from screaming. Even just being around it lately is enough to make your heart do the cha-cha slide behind your ribcage.

All the millions of years it’s been alive, all the billions of people it’s encountered on this earth; all of which it’s seen as nothing but food, and somehow it’s come to care about you. A part of you is doubtful, and a part of you wants to know why, but you wait until another slow part to start talking again.

“Have you ever met anyone who wasn’t afraid of something before?”

“No.” It rasps, voice dropping and breaking. “All of my prey fear something.”

“Really?” You ask skeptically. “All of them?”

It nods its head vigorously, little bells jingling somewhere on its suit. “All of them. So simple... So small... So very weak.”

“You really fuckin’ hate humans, huh?”

“Vermin.” It curses, nose crinkling in disgust.

“But... You don’t hate _me_...” You comment, and it almost sounds like a question when it comes out of your mouth.

You glance over briefly to check for any signs of protest and find nothing of the sort. It just sits there passively, leaning forward now with its elbows rested on its knees. It’s legs are so fucking long that its thighs don’t even touch the couch, and you smile to yourself at how ridiculous it looks right now.

“Hey.”

It cocks its carved-in brow to show you that it’s listening.

“What if this is like— What if you’re like one of those female lions? You know, like one of those lions whose instincts get all messed up so she tries to adopt a baby gazelle instead of eating it?” You laugh for a moment before freezing, jaw dropping open in horrified realization. “Holy shit, Pennywise. Wait... Is that what this is? Am I like— Am I like your _baby?”_

“Is that what you want, stupid child?” By the tone of its voice, it is not amused even in the slightest. “Do you want me to be your mother?”

“Not preferably. Although, I really wouldn’t have an issue with calling you _‘Daddy.”_

It doesn’t understand the joke, and just stares at you with its lips pulled back over its teeth.

You take a calculated risk by scooting in just a tiny bit closer. When it doesn’t pull away you decide it’s safe to keep pushing it, all the way until you’re sitting with your thigh only a few inches away from its own. It shows no signs of distress or disgust, just stares at the screen with saliva dripping down its suit.

“Why do you stay in this form?”

Pennywise generously offers the slightest of shrugs.

“You weren’t in this form when I first met you, so why do you stay in it now?” You pause to place your hand down beside you, just a hair-length away from touching the fabric of its suit. You stare at it for a moment, fantasizing about taking the plunge and taking its fingers into your own. The thought makes you feel dizzy, like standing on a tall building and fearing something inside of you will actually force you to jump. “I know it’s not to lure in children. No one else is around, so I know it’s not because of that.”

“No.” It agrees, before turning to smirk at you. “But perhaps it is to lure _you_ in.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think so.... You smelled my fear, that night in the trailer. I was so scared, and I know you smelled it. But you still didn’t eat me.”

A look washes over its face, and even though it takes you a second to figure it out, you quickly realize that it’s wincing. Being reminded about what happened that night in the trailer is causing it physical fucking distress. Holy fuck. You might shit. You might actually shit in your pants right now.

You’re in the middle of what feels like a heart-attack when Pennywise turns suddenly toward you again. You expect it to bark at you, seeing that its favorite part is playing on the screen; but its face is filled with only genuine curiosity.

“I have a question, little thing... And do not dare lie to me.” It bares its teeth in a threatening display before adding, “I can smell it when you lie.”

“I— I won’t.” You answer nervously, subconsciously scooting sliding to the other end of the couch.

“Why do you desire me for a mate?” 

“Jesus Christ.”

The question catches you off guard. You almost wish you were drinking a glass of water. You know, for comedic effect.

You cock your head to the side with a grin and ask, “What makes you think I want you as a mate? I don’t... recall... ever actually _saying_ that... Do you?” You put your finger beneath your chin to feign pondering.

“I am no fool.” It spits, leaning back in its seat. “Do not ever mistake me for one.”

You let out a sigh of defeat, knowing it’s both cruel and against your own best interest to play coy.

“Fine. Okay so listen. Well, I mean... There are a lot of reasons... And they’re not all exactly that easy to explain.” You look it in its eyes, trying your best to convey how serious you are when you add, ”Not to sound as lame as you did the other night, but I do care about you too, Pennywise. I know I didn’t say it back the other night but I _do._ I have for a long time... Pretty much since the beginning.”

“Even after I frightened you?“

“Yes. Even after that.”

Pennywise nods briefly, then turns back toward the screen as if that’s the end of the conversation.

“Wait, you can’t— You can’t just not say anything back, you fuckin’ sadist. It’s your turn now. Why do you— Well, I guess _do_ you... Or, I mean, _would_ you... ever... want to be my mate?”

It takes it almost fucking twenty minutes to answer. It makes you wait all the way until the credits have started rolling before quietly murmuring, “I will try.”

“You’ll tr— what the fuck does that mean? You mean like, you’ll _try_ to be my mate, but you might accidentally fuck up and eat me alive? What the hell do you—“

“It means that I will try.” It growls, suddenly looking much larger than you remember it ever being.

“Okay, okay.” You put your hands out in front of yourself in a gesture of backing down. “You’ll try. That’s cool. I’m cool with trying.”

It shakes its head, thinly-veiled amusement lighting up its painted features.

“No human has ever desired me before.” It remarks, pulling its lips into a smirk. “You must be broken. Or _stupid.”_

“Whatever you say, Weird-Adoptive-Lion-Mom.” You stand to turn off the DVD-player, before pausing and turning back towards it. “So wait... Does this mean that... Does this mean that we’re kind of... mates... now?”

“Yes.” It frowns for a moment, staring somewhere in the distance as though it’s actually debating what the fuck it’s just agreed to. It looks back up at you and leans forward. _“Yes._ We are mates now.”


	8. Cherry

You wake with a jolt, your phone blaring to life beside your ear. You have no clue why on earth you ever thought it would be a fun idea to set the sound of a woman screaming as your alarm, but here you are having a fucking heart-attack beneath your covers.

Pennywise, on the other hand, is completely composed. It’s always awake before you, either curled up at the foot of the bed or as far against the other side of the covers as inhumanly possible. This morning it’s chosen the latter, resting silently on its belly with its face turned toward you.

“Good morning, sunshine.” You croak out, voice hoarse from how dry it is. “Gonna miss me today?”

Its red-painted nostrils flare out softly in amusement.

“I figured you would. But hey, at least it’s Friday... Then we’ll have the whole weekend together.”

It rolls its eyes. “Oh, what _joy.”_

You sit up with a groan, stretching out your arms before cracking your neck. You move to climb out of bed but something pulls you back, and you realize it’s holding you into place with its mind.

“Stay.” It grunts.

A soft chuckle spills from your lips. It’s an endearing gesture, no matter how menacing the implication of its power may actually seem.

“I wish.”

“This town belongs to _me.”_ It hisses, claws threatening to poke through the soft ends of its gloves. “I can make it so that you can stay.”

“What, are you gonna eat my boss or something?” You let out a laugh, and then stop when you catch the thoughtful expression on its face. “Oh God. No, I mean... I don’t mind going into work. Really. Don’t— don’t do anything to my boss.”

Disappointed, Pennywise expels a loud huff of air.

It always looks so much younger in this form at this time of day, the pale light of the morning softening the cracks and pores on its skin. Its lip is pouted now, plump and cherry-red; and all you can think about is how good it would feel to grip it between your teeth.

“Oh shit— I’m so rude, I always forget to ask! How do you like your coffee, Pennywise? Unconsummated? Whoops— I mean uh, _decaffeinated?”_

The clown narrows its eyes, yellow irises reflecting back like an animal’s in the dark.

When it had told you that it wanted to be your mate, you’d assumed that new title would be accompanied by some degree of physical intimacy. Just as always, you’d assumed wrong. So far the only change you’ve seen has been its tolerance of how close you’re allowed to sit next to it on the couch.

It’s not that you’re an asshole, and it’s not just about sex. It’s only _a little_ about sex.

Alright, whatever; so it’s mainly about sex. But who cares? It’s an entirely different species than you, one of which it’s claimed to be the very last of in existence. Even if it did have some concept of what makes two beings mates, it still doesn’t mean that it coincides at all with your own cum-soaked ideals. For all you know its definition of a mate could be nothing more than a companion; someone who sits with you while you eat your dinner and sleeps at the other end of the bed.

And if so, then that’s perfectly _fine._ You’re not some douchebag on prom night. You’re not going to suddenly stop caring about it once you realize it’s never going to let you pop its millennia-old cherry.

“Oh come on, Pettywise. Even _you_ can admit that was a pretty good one.”

“Your jokes do not amuse me.” It rests its head back down and rolls onto its back like a dog lying stretched out in the brightening sunlight. “If you want me to breed you, you need only say it aloud.” 

“Well, I mean... there’s definitely a word for what I want you to do to me... but to be honest, I don’t think that ‘breed’ is exactly the one I would use.”

Slowly, you crawl on your hands and knees towards it, stopping when you get just a few inches away. Its eyes follow you, lingering at your outstretched fingers resting so close to its body.

“But hey, if all I’ve gotta say is ‘breed me’? Then oh _man_ , do I want you to breed me. Breed me, baby. I want you to breed the living shit out of me.”

For the first time since you’ve met it, Pennywise lets out a chorus of genuine laughter. It’s almost more like a cackle really, a heartfelt giggle raising up high over the sound of the humidifier in the corner of the room. It takes you by surprise, and you feel actual pride at knowing you caused it.

It sits up as well, twisting its spine around and around again until its joints are all facing properly forward. It shakes the stiffness from its bones, the frills and ruffles of its suit bouncing as it does so. After it’s finished its early morning routine it freezes, then slowly turns its head to look into your eyes.

“I do not mate with my prey.” It grates out, for what’s probably the hundredth fucking time. You can feel your shoulders drop, readying to let out an exaggerated sigh before it adds, “But you... Little Thing... are no longer my prey.”

“Wait, what?”

It takes you a second for the words to register in your head. You can feel the hamster running, little coils turning in your mind before you finally figure out what exactly it’s implying.

“Oh, _okay..._ This is a joke, right? Like that time you caught me with the shower-head and lied that you wanted to fuck me just to shut me up?” 

“No.” Pennywise growls softly. “I take no interest in lies.”

You fall back down to rest with your ass flat against the bed, staring at the closed blinds. You’re pretty sure you don’t move a muscle for what feels like an eternity before its voice snaps you out of your shock-ridden trance.

“You no longer desire to mate?”

“What? No. Wait— I mean yes! _Yes!_ Of course I want to mate with you! Holy shit, yes. A thousand times yes.” Your wide-eyed excitement fades into uncertainty, drawing your limbs in closer to yourself. “It’s just...“

“Speak.”

“It’s just— I don’t know. I guess it’s still hard for me to... you know... believe that something like you would ever even _care_ about me. Let alone want to actually have sex with me.” You shake your head in uncertainty, before cocking your head to the side and squinting suspiciously. “Are you _sure_ you know what sex is?“

It bares its teeth into a snarl, eyes flashing scarlet in a display of warning.

“I’m just saying. You barely even let me sit next to you on the couch. Sex— or mating, I mean... It kind of involves a lot more than just being near each other.” 

“I am no idiot.” It rasps, assuring you that it knows exactly what it’s talking about. “I am offering you something you’ve desired from me for months. Do you truly think it wise to ruin it with doubt?”

For some reason, that’s all the validation you need. You can’t help but bounce up and down on your knees like an excited child, making the whole mattress rock with your movements.

“But wait.” You blurt out, suddenly freezing. “We can’t do it right now. I can’t— I can’t be late for work again... Can we _please_ do it later on when I get back home tonight?”

It makes a low, guttural sound in the back of its throat.You’ve been around it long enough now to know that that sound means ‘yes,’ and you let out an inhuman squeal in response.

Reaching over to ruffle the coarse mane on top of its head, you fully expect it to pull away. When it doesn’t, and instead lets you bury your fingers into its hair, you realize just how serious it actually fucking is.

The rest of the morning is a blur, racing against the clock only to waltz into work with mismatched heels on your feet. You earn yourself a couple stares from around the office, panting and sweating long after you’ve sat down at your desk; but you stare right back until the assholes from accounting finally look away.

At least it’s a slow day. You don’t have a lot on your plate, having finally caught up yesterday from all the vacation days you took a while back. There’s no one else out that you have to make up for, and no pointless fucking meetings to slow you down. In fact, you finish what you were supposed to have done hours early; and decide to focus the rest of the afternoon figuring out how to best approach taking a prehistoric shapeshifter’s virginity.

You angle your computer to the side, keeping your screen out of view from any of your nosy little coworkers; and hastily begin searching both alien and arachnida mating habits. You quickly realize how bad of an idea that is, since both seem to mate solely for reproduction instead of pleasure. You highly doubt Pennywise is planning to conceive an immortal, unstoppable, transmogrifying murder-machine that possesses half of your genes along with its own. And also because you’re pretty sure a lot of spiders tend to eat their partners after they’re finished. That’s not exactly something you’ll wanna remember later with its mouth around your cunt. Talk about _killing the mood._

Oh, but who are you kidding? You’re always in the mood when it’s around. And the thought that it could literally devour you in more ways than one is enough to make you cream in your charcoal-colored work-pants.

To say that you are excited would be an understatement. You’re practically vibrating by lunchtime, imagining all the ways you can put its inhumanly long tongue to good use. After that you can pretty much feel the hours just rushing on by, staring blankly at your desk and wondering if its pubes look like cotton-candy beneath its suit.

As soon as five o’ clock flashes its way across the little blue bar at the bottom of your screen, you peel your car out of the parking lot and fly straight to Derry’s closest excuse for a mall.

Because of course, it’s already seen your best lingerie. You wore it to bed that afternoon when you were shamelessly trying to seduce it, so seeing it on you again won’t impress it at all. You know you’ve got to up the ante a little bit for such a special occasion, so you head your pumped-up ass right on over to Victoria’s Secret.

“Need any help finding anything?” An employee around your age asks, wearing the biggest fake smile you think you’ve ever seen.

 _“Actually, yeah,”_ You think about answering. _“Do you know if you guys carry anything that a prehistoric-demon-clown might find the least bit sexy?”_ But instead you smile back and tell her you’re just looking around.

You could wear a teddy. As inconvenient and decorative as they are, it would still be something it has to work to get off of you. Maybe you can find another nice matching bra and panty set, one that looks even better than what you’d worn a few weeks ago.

You browse through the colors and styles, trying to find something that’ll excite a creature who’s probably seen every era of lingerie in the book. After a while you wonder if you should just say “fuck it,” and head on over to the halloween-store instead to find a nice clown suit, and the mental image makes you choke on your own spit.

When at last you stumble across a pearl-white Babydoll hiding at the back of the rack, you immediately make your decision. It’s _perfect._ Delicate, a contrast to Pennywise; virginal, a contrast to yourself; and innocent, a contrast to you both. Plus; the thought of staining the perfectly-bleached fabric with streaks of cum, blood, and drool is just too delicious to pass up.

Ever since it said those special little words to you this morning you’ve felt nothing but dream-like excitement. It’s not until the drive home that your “excitement” turns into a nervousness like you’ve never fucking imagined.

It’s never mated with a human. From what it’s told you, it’s never even been attracted to one. If it’s not physically attracted to humans, why in the hell would it be physically attracted to _you?_ You’re certainly no Wicked Witch of the West, but you’re also not the most perfect looking woman on the face on the earth either. You’re just a person, like any other.

A human being, like any other.

 _Prey,_ like any other.

It’s not too long until the insecurities become full-blown fears, and you have to pull over on the side of the road to stress-vomit at the edge of the grass.

Jesus, what if it can’t even get hard for you? What if you can’t make it come, so it realizes you aren’t worth anything more to it than a skin-bag filled with delicious flesh?

Or say that it even _does_ find humans attractive. After all that it’s seen, would you even be anything special? What if it knows how its own species should be able to mate, and thinks your pussy is whack because you don’t have a prehensile clitoris filled with tentacles or something? What if its penis is barbed, like a fucking male cat’s— and no matter what it shapes into it still can’t change its genitalia?

You walk into the house looking ghost-pale, ignoring Pennywise’s confused expression when you hurry past it on the couch. You bolt upstairs with your pink-striped shopping bag and slam the bedroom door behind you.

Should you light candles? You feel like maybe you should light some candles. Should you get drunk first? What if you throw up again?

You’re twirling around on your feet, hyperventilating in the safety of your empty room. You decide the first thing to do is definitely take a bath, and so you load that bitch up with every good-smelling oil you can possibly find. Reasoning that it probably relies more on taste and touch than the sight of you, you thoroughly shave and scrub every inch of your body until you’re quite literally squeaky-clean. You pay extra attention to the places between your legs, horrified that any natural human-like scent will send it heading straight for the hills.

After it’s over, after you’re all washed and rinsed and moisturized like a prized pig; you pull your hair back from your face and slip on your new lingerie. You take a long, haphazard look into the mirror; only to find that this is the first time you’ve felt pretty since before— well, since before that night you’d rather not have to think about again. 

 _This is it,_ you think to yourself before replacing your good sheets with the poopy-brown ones your aunt gave you three birthdays ago. _This is actually fucking happening._

You decide to skip the candles altogether, and lie back flat in the center of your bed. It takes everything in you to keep from trembling, clearing your throat to gently whisper, “P-Pennywise?”

It blinks into existent in front of you, right at the foot of the mattress. You prop yourself up on the pillows, unconsciously scooting back until your shoulder-blades press against the headboard. 

The clown looks so primal now, so frightening and animalistic. Its hair is as thick and as fiery as you’ve ever seen it before, crouched on its haunches. It almost looks like it’s just completed a superhero-landing— and also like it’s about to pounce and pounce and rip your throat out of your neck. 

 _Get it together._ You tell yourself, swallowing down a hard lump in your throat. This isn’t your first time. It might be your first time with a prehistoric carnivore, but whatever. The logistics are the same— and besides, your momma didn’t raise no bitch. If anyone can take Derry’s most famous cryptid, it’s fucking  _you._

“So... Are you uh... still down to clown?” You ask with a smile, and all the false bravado you can muster. 

Pennywise doesn’t answer. Instead it simply crawls on its hands and knees towards you, in what feels like fucking slow-motion.

Oh God. There’s nothing separating you now. No platonic-protocol, no thinly-veiled insults, no age-old reservations. You suddenly feel like that line from The Dark Knight; one of those dogs that chases after a car without ever realizing what it would actually do if it ever caught one. You’re the dog, and Pennywise is the four-thousand pounds of steel you’ve managed to catch in your teeth.

You take a deep breath, reaching your hand out slowly to cup the side of its face. At first it flinches away with a hiss, and even though it sends a bolt of surprise into your gut, you know it was nothing more than an instinctual reflex. 

Its skin is so smooth and cold; like a beautiful statue in a museum that you’re definitely not supposed to be touching. It doesn’t take long for your all-too-brave spirit to return, excited at the chance of having something so ancient and deadly at your fingertips. You find yourself filled with the urge to run your hands over ever single inch of it, but when you realize your touch is agitating it more than soothing or pleasing it, you lay back flat and take one of its gloves into your own.

“Here,” You whisper, urging its palm to lie flat at the center of your belly. “Touch me anywhere you want. Just don’t uh— just be gentle, I mean.”

You can see the little droplet of drool beginning to form at the corner of its lips, growing in size by the second. You can see its irises darkening, changing from a red-rimmed yellow into a gleaming amber.

The creature’s eyes narrow when it takes the hem of your top between its fingers, giving it an experimental tug.

“Why?” It asks, voice sharp and thin like broken glass.

“Because it’s pretty... And I like it.”

“Not pretty.” It scoffs. _“Useless.”_

“Says the guy wearing a full fucking clown-suit.”

Pennywise growls, but you can see the way its nose twitches in amusement. It moves to rest on folded legs, placing both hands beneath the hem and rubbing them experimentally around the expanse of your belly. 

For such a simple act of physical contact, it honestly feels fucking amazing. Your skin has grown ticklish and hypersensitive from months of neglect, and the thought of a killing-machine touching you in such a vulnerable place makes you keen.

“You enjoy this.” It muses, tilting its head to the side. It almost sounds like a question.

“Humans like to be touched. It feels good for us.”

“I do not care for what pleases humans.” It leans in closer, graveled voice lowering to just above a whisper. “I only care for what pleases my mate.”

A shiver races up your spine, making your whole body jerk wildly in response. You can feel the muscles in your belly involuntarily tighten, excited at the knowledge that the thing you’ve been chasing so long is finally yours.

A barely-there smirk makes its way across Pennywise’s face before hardening back into a snarl.

“Off.” It demands.

“You mean this?” You ask, gesturing to the dress-like top of the babydoll. “Or _this?”_ You bring your fingers down to pinch at the band of your panties.

“All of it.”

“No way. I went through a lot to put this shit on. _You_ can take it off.”

Pennywise frowns, leaning back and lifting a hand in front of its face. When its talons shred through the end of its gloves like a bird of prey you pull back, realizing it means to claw the lingerie right off of you.

“Jesus Christ— never mind. I’ll just... I’ll take it off myself.”

You wriggle around for a moment, trying to peel the admittedly too-tight garments over your legs and off your shoulders. Once you’re free you lay back again, and even though it’s seen you naked before you can feel your cheeks blooming with color as you open your legs. It eyes your sex with curiosity, leaning in closer to examine it. It cocks its head to the side with narrowed-lids, then leans in and licks a strip up your clit without warning.

“Shit!” You hiss in surprise, the direct contact punching the air right out of your lungs.

Pennywise lets out a snort of air, raising up to catch the startled look on your face.

“Humans.” It murmurs, before dipping its head again. “So delicate.”

You wonder where it’s learned this— and then suddenly remember what you’d said to it that day on your couch. It’s spent all these years watching humans from a distance, surely it’s caught a glimpse of someone doing this before.

And from what it caught you doing that day in the shower, it definitely knows _exactly_ where you like to be touched best.

The pleasure is sweet as it laps at you, soft little kitten-licks that reverberate all throughout your body. It’s almost sickening how good it is, and you decide you need something else to cut through it. 

“I don’t wanna come from this.” You admit reluctantly, pushing lightly at the top of its head.

Its face doesn’t move, and you wonder for a moment if it even knows what that means.

“I just— let’s do some other stuff first. That’s all I meant.”

It pulls its lips back to bare its teeth, looking scorned and disappointed. You find yourself wanting to do anything to make that look go away, and you know exactly just what to do to make that happen.

“Here.” You urge gently. “Roll onto your back for me.”

Pennywise, every enormous inch of it, lies back with its legs spread. Its filthy boots hang just over the edge on either side of you, its thighs the size of tree trunks in comparison to your own.

“Wait— does your suit even come off?”

The gigantic clown rolls its eyes, then raises its hands to snap its fingers together. Just like that, the garish costume disappears, leaving behind a nude body that looks startlingly human.

It is pale, long and lithe and void of any blemishes or scars. You know it isn’t real, that this isn’t its actual form; but the sight still makes your insides flutter like the wings of a bird.

There’s hair between its legs, soft and ginger-colored; its cock draped thick and uncut over the swell of its sac. It takes all the pride in you not to moan just at the sight of it. It still isn’t hard, which is something you had feared, so you take a deep breath and lean down to take it into your mouth to coax it up.

Pennywise snarls, human-like fingers digging crescents into the flesh of your shoulders. It stops you before you’ve even touched it, looking furious and apprehensive all at once.

“It’s okay.” You insist, trying to calm yourself down just as much as you’re trying to calm it. You realize at once that it might have thought you were trying to bite it, so you smile and place your fingers softly on its shaft. “I’m not gonna try and hurt you.”

 _“You_ could never harm a thing like—“

“I know. But just let me do this.” 

The clown hisses, then releases its grip to drapes its hands over its belly instead. Jesus, even its stomach is perfect, the slightest hint of its abs visible beneath its skin. You can see the dormant strength in its muscles, even though you know no human body could ever do justice to the unfathomable powers of its mind.

You’d almost forgotten that it doesn’t have to breathe when you take the flared head of it inbetween your lips. There’s no gasp, no sharp inhalation of breath as you begin sucking powerfully. It doesn’t even flinch, just lies there motionless beneath you.

You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t disheartening. There’s no warm pumping of blood in its veiny stem, no twitching of its cock as it grows to life in your mouth. It’s only when you graze your teeth over its slit that it moves, gives you some fucking sign that it’s even there. You take that as encouragement, wrapping your fingers around it and dragging your nails just slightly up the length of its shaft. An unfamiliar growl rumbles to life in Pennywise’s throat, and it only takes you a moment to realize it sounds like a purr.

 _It’s working,_ you think to yourself when you feel it hardening. _It likes this— whatever the fuck you’re doing._

It doesn’t take long to figure out that it likes things a little rough. You sense its limbs melting into the bed, thrusting its hips into your throat when you suck it as hard as you can. You aren’t quite sure if it’ll know when it’s close, so you decide it’s best to quit before it gets too carried away.

“No.” It growls, eyes burning red as it pops free from your swollen lips. “Do not stop.”

“No, I— I want you to fuck me now.”

“More.” It demands, wrapping its fingers around the back of your skull and gently forcing you back down towards it.

You can’t help but laugh at its greediness, heartfelt at the fact it now knows what sexual pleasure is. You pull out from underneath its grasp, scooting back away from it.

“Come on.” You beg, a little too shamelessly. “Mate with me.”

You feel a little disappointed at yourself, having wanted to try every act of foreplay with it in the book— but you know you can’t hold out much longer on your own pleasure. It’s been so fucking long since you last had sex, and the excitement of being the boogeyman of Derry’s first time is far stronger than your own self-control. 

“Fine.” It grumbles, as if it’s a fucking chore.

A grin graces your face. You roll onto your back beside it, urging it to prop itself up on its arms with its body between your legs. A part of you reasons that you should probably be the one on top for this, the one in control of things; but the truth of it is that you’re just way too fucking lazy for that.

And of course, there’s definitely some appeal of knowing you’re completely at its mercy. 

You open your mouth to tell it what to do, but instead it thrusts clumsily against you without instruction. It takes it a couple times to line itself up against its target, and you feel yourself shiver at the coolness of your own spit painted over the length of it. It drips down over your flushed skin, tickling the curve of your ass when it trails down between your cheeks.

When its too-thick head first breaches the entrance of your cunt, you’re suddenly reminded just how long it’s actually been since anything bigger than your own finger has been inside of you. Everything about this thing is huge, and the appendage hanging between its legs is certainly no exception. It pauses for a moment, then thrusts all the way to the hilt in one sharp pump of its hips.

You cry out more loudly than you’d meant to, reeling in white-hot agony.

It’s too big, too deep; tearing at your tender flesh like thousands of little paper-cuts. You open your lids to stare up at it through the tears in your eyes, expecting to find it smirking in self-satisfaction— to only to find what looks like dismay.

You can feel it drawing itself out of you, but you wrap your legs around its back to keep it from moving.

“It’s okay.” You assure it, trying to force yourself to accommodate its length. “Just dont— Don’t move yet.”

Its eyes are wide, as blue and as massive as the fucking sky itself. It drops down to its forearms, buries them underneath your upper back and wraps itself tightly around you. It buries its head into your neck, and you brace yourself to smell the stench of rotting flesh as it wafts from its lips.

Instead you find yourself breathing in something else entirely, startled at how different it is than what you were expecting. It takes you a moment to decipher it, and when you do you feel your jaw drop in disbelief.

It’s wildflowers. It’s the scent of that field your first date had ever taken you to, your first real kiss with a boy. He’d tasted like honey, and when you close your mouth again it’s there; not just in your mind, but coating your tongue like it was gilded there.

It’s taking that memory from your head and spinning it around you like a web, changing your fear and pain into something else— something good. You can smell the candles in the room during your first time, the smell of your favorite cologne, and the chocolates your best friend gave you for Valentine’s Day.

For all you try to seem a flippant, playful person; you find yourself choking back a swell of emotion at how much the gesture means to you. You can feel your walls relaxing around it, so you tilt your head back and beg it to start fucking you.

Pennywise obliges without so much as a word, pulling out and pushing back in until it senses it can’t bury itself any further. The scents and tastes fade like smoke into the air, replaced only with smoldering need. There are no teases, no feigned reluctance as it pumps into you as if it’s done this a million times before.

You can feel the undulating of its back beneath your calves as its moves, muscles working fluidly in time. You can feel the blood rushing straight to your clit, swelling and hardening from how perfect it fits inside of you. It reaches every part of you, slamming into that special place with every other thrust. You tilt your hips to the side, lining up the angle just perfectly, whimpering and moaning and making sounds you’re pretty fucking sure you’ve never made in your life.

You gore your nails across the blades of its shoulders and it growls, earning you an especially brutal thrust. The softness and sentimentality of earlier are nowhere to be found, the two of you both lost in vicious animal-lust.

The whites of its eyes are black, its hair matted and ablaze. Its teeth spill out over its lips, spitting drool onto your face with every hiss and growl.

“Kiss me.” You beg, suddenly needing it.

The clown doesn’t even hesitate. It bows its head without even stopping, pressing its lips sloppily against your own. You drink it in like wine, moaning at the way the sharp edges of its fangs catch on your tongue when you try to deepen the kiss.

It pulls back without warning, confusion and abhorrence riddled across its features.

“Are you close?” You ask between gasps. “Are you about to co—“

And then you are too, an explosion of light bursting behind your eyes. You can feel it then, not just the throbbing and expulsion of its seed; but the very _essence_ of it climaxing inside your mind. It’s in your fucking head, connected in every single way, three brilliant spheres spiraling all throughout your veins.

It takes a moment for your sight to return, coming back down to the reality of your room. You’re vaguely aware that it’s panting, a sound you’ve never heard from it before. Its eyes are squeezed shut, nostrils flared like a frightened animal; and you remember then that it’s probably never had an orgasm before this.

But Jesus, compared to _that?_ Even _you_ haven’t ever had an orgasm compared to that.

“I felt it.” You breathe out, chest heaving and slicked with sweat. “I fucking _felt it_ when you came.”

Pennywise collapses beside you, curled up on its belly like the most exhausted thing you’ve ever seen. It presses the side of its face down flat against the mattress, drool pooling out in a small dark stain. 

“Did you like it?” You ask, afraid you might actually pass out from how fast your heart is beating.

Pennywise nods its head hastily without moving another single muscle. “I understand now.”

“Understand what?”

“Why you had wanted this from me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOH this was a long one. I’m finishing this at 4 am so I feel like I’m gonna totally hate it when I read it again tomorrow but it’s FINE we’re FINE xoxo thanks for reading you’re beautiful and I hope you gave a great day today night night love u


	9. Blowjob

It wakes you up in the middle of the night with a hardness pressing against the curve of your ass, spooning you tightly. You pull your panties to the side and let it fuck you in that position with its name on your lips. It moves into you with a speed that reminds you of a rabbit, quick isolated movements that make tears weep from your eyes. It buries its teeth into the curve of your shoulder, a sharp sting of pain that mingles so beautifully with the pleasure building in your cunt. It comes before you’re ready, but luckily enough its mind lifts you high into the air to join it. Afterwards, your clit is so sensitive you can’t even rest your legs together.

It takes you again as soon as the sun rises, and by noon it can’t even keep still in its seat on the couch— squirming around until it finally snarls and pulls you on top of it. It may have the body of a man when it fucks you, but there’s nothing human about its stamina.

By dinnertime you’re sure that if it has sex with you again your vagina might seal itself shut from overuse. When it gets that familiar desperate, almost pained look on its face you offer the best alternative you can think of: a blowjob. It happily accepts, pulling you up the stairs like a puppy with a toy in its teeth.

It hasn’t figured out that it doesn’t need to get completely naked for things like this, but you don’t have one single complaint. Its body and genitalia are different each time, as though it either can’t decide or can’t remember which form it took last. Or hey, maybe it’s just to keep you guessing. You think about asking, but with its alien-cock standing proudly just inches from your nose, you immediately forget what you were even thinking about. 

 _“Yes.”_ It hisses, as you engulf the length of it. “Such a good little girl for me.”

It loves the way your mascara runs down your cheeks in little black trails. It holds your face in its hands as it lazily fucks your mouth, rubbing its thumbs across the delicate skin beneath your eyes.

“I used to imagine ripping your tongue from your throat and eating it in front of you.” It begins, pausing to drape one of its feet over the curve of your back. “I am thankful now that I did not.”

It cranes its neck to peer down at you, two elongated teeth poking out stupidly from between its lips. Its nostrils flare in amusement, and it pulls tighter at the back of your hair.

You know that giving it head will likely get old and stale someday, but for right now it’s fucking perfect. That psychic transfer of orgasmic energy is enough to turn any last-second-hummer into a rewarding experience, if the fact of knowing you’re pleasing something so powerful and deadly wasn’t enough on its own.

You can hear the sound of your pillows being torn to shreds by its claws. The blood-hot skin held lightly between your lips grows impossibly warmer, its shaft twitching each time you pay extra attention to the flared tip. You’ve learned by now that means it’s getting close, the heel of its bare foot pressing harshly between your shoulder blades.

“Wait.” You let it fall free from your mouth with a loud slurp, sitting up to tilt your head to the side. “Your cum— it’s not like, dangerous or anything right? Like, I’m not gonna have to go to the hospital and try to explain how I’ve managed to ingest some alien neurotoxin if you finish in my mouth?” 

Pennywise looks over at the wall and stares there for a moment. Then it frowns.

“Jesus Christ you don’t— you don’t even know!”

A thoughtful expression glasses its eyes, turning them soft and blue and vacant. Then it turns back to you, confidence and vigor returning like a bright wave.

“I have spilled my seed inside of you.” It states, reaching up to brush back the top of your sweat-matted hair. “If it were deadly to humans, you would already be among the weeds.”

“I guess you’re right— my body’s already been absorbing it. If your other half-a-dozen loads haven’t killed me, this one shouldn’t either.”

Pennywise emits a soft, low purr; and thrusts its hips back up toward your mouth.

You slide one of your hands up to lie flat against its smooth belly as you bob your head quickly up and down. Its skin is so taut, as pale today as the painted base of its face. Its fingers are so long, its palms heavy with inhuman strength as it guides you back down each time you raise up.

You glance up to meet your mate’s gaze, feeling the intensity of the way it’s staring down at you. You bare your teeth around its head and watch as its eyes roll back in its sockets like that of a breached shark.

Just when you’re wondering whether deciding to do this instead of fucking it was the right choice it bursts hot liquid into your throat, no word or breath of warning. Its back arches violently off of the bed and it comes with a choked-back screech.

Immediately it hits you that it almost sounds like one of those pterodactyl-things from Jurassic Park, though you don’t have enough time to laugh about it before you’re feeling it too.

The amber light flows like shockwaves through your body. It’s fast and bright, like summer lightning that pops and fizzles out in the sky. You surge through each other’s memories and thoughts, weaving around one another and melding together— if only for just a few fleeting moments. You can’t remember any of it after it’s over, but you’re sure that for a brief while you were a part of it. You’re sure of it.

When you finally come down you can taste it at last, the sickly-sweet flavor of its ejaculate assaulting every inch of your tongue. It tastes like a flattened piece of bubblegum someone found stuck on a road, the sweetness of it muddled by the acridness of roadkill.

“What the _fuck?”_ Is all you can choke out, spitting its pearled semen onto the sheets. “You can make me smell the exact candle my grandma got me for my last birthday, but you can’t make your jizz not taste like rotten ass?”

You expect it to bark at you in response, to at least show some form of aggression or loss of composure. Instead the clown simply rolls its eyes, wills its filthy grey suit back into existence, and turns over on its side to sleep. 

Your shoulders drop, and you think about prodding it sharply in the ribs in an attempt to elicit something predatory and dark. Lately—no matter its newly-awakened sexual-desperation or how much it desires to take and consume and devour— it always treats you as though you’re a thing that may break beneath its fingertips.

 _It loves you._ You deduct one morning while you’re talking as loudly as you can during the grisly climax of Sinister. _It wants to keep you safe._

It hasn’t even flinched; hasn’t growled or huffed or puffed or fucking anything that it used to do when you annoyed it. It doesn’t threaten to rip your hand off when you ruffle up the cotton-like hair on top of its head. It doesn’t bite back at you when you tell it that its bulbous skull looks like that of an emu egg. It doesn’t even protest when you decide to start gleefully calling it, “Nicklestupid” in leu of its own cleverly-picked name.

Besides those short bursts of feral behavior in the bedroom, it’s as if the horrifying spider that lies beneath the shell of its stark-white paint has gone utterly dormant. It’s so much like a human now that sometimes you can go almost a full hour before remembering that it’s not even something close.

But hey, this is what you wanted. Don’t you remember how heartbroken you were when you thought it didn’t care about you, despite how hard you were starting to fall for it?

You tried every womanly ploy and scheme in the book to make it look at you. You were so desperate for it, fingering yourself to the thought of it inside of you. Every time you spoke you did so for its attention, praying someday it would listen to your words instead of flashing its fangs and threatening to tear you apart. All of this you did, just so it would treat you the way it’s treating you now. It’s soft, and gentle, and more kind than you ever possibly thought it capable of being.

Too bad you can’t understand why on God’s green earth it’s all starting to bother you so fucking much. 


	10. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You ask Pennywise on a date. What could go wrong? (What could you do to make it go wrong?)

It all started with a plan. An immature, insane, possibly life-threatening plan to be exact— one that could have gotten an entire restaurant filled with people viciously murdered. It was risky, it was stupid, and even if it had gone the way you wanted it to someone still could have been torn to shreds.

But hey, no one ever accused you of being able to think ahead.

All that mattered was that it sounded good at the time. It’s only now, as you gasp for air against the kitchen ceiling, that you finally realize just how fucking wrong you were.

The first step in your delusional plan was to call Jade of the Orient every single night to ask about their employees’ work schedules. You knew that Pennywise had some type of omniscient sight over the town, but reasoned that even if it was watching as you annoyed the shit out of whoever was manning the restaurant’s phones it still wouldn’t know the reason behind why. It took about two weeks for you to get all the information you needed, down to the very section of each and every server there.

Step two was finding the prettiest dress you could afford while skillfully keeping the tags in tact so that you could later return it. You could hear your father in your head scolding you for your dishonesty; but when faced every day with the question of morality that comes with dating an eater of children, scamming a department store out of a single night’s use of a dress just seems so goddamn trivial.

Step three, which was surprisingly easier than you had expected, was getting it to agree to go on an actual date with you.

“No.” It had hissed, shaking its head and furrowing its brow-line.

“Please.”

“No.”

 _“Pretty_ please.” You crooned sweetly, a dramatically joyous expression on your face.

“No.”

“Not even with sugar on top?”

“No.”

“Cotton-candy?”

“No.”

“But I’m _bored.”_ You moaned, dragging your hands down your cheeks. You slumped down onto the couch, pretending to keel over and die on the spot.

Pennywise, however, was definitely not bored.It was perfectly content to sit cross-legged on your couch and listen to the read-aloud Creepypasta-playlist you had made for it; like a little kid on scary-story night at the library.

“You know, humans wrote this shit... This, and all those scary movies that you love so much. So... You know. If you enjoy this, you’re technically enjoying something made by a human.”

“I enjoy you.” It pointed out flatly. “And Cave. Both were made by humans as well.”

“It is not called— You know what... Never mind. I just... I just thought it would be a cool idea. But it’s fine. We don’t have to go. I understand.”

You could see Pennywise watching you sulk out of the corner of its eye while pretending to still stare at the eerie picture on the screen. Something flashed in its irises, maybe amusement— or annoyance.

“It’s no biggie.” You continued, fighting a soft smile. “Not like I really wanted to go that bad anyway. Who cares? Not me. Doesn’t matter.”

“This is important to you?” It asked, tilting its chin to peer over at you.

“I mean, I won’t _actually_ care if we can’t go.” That was a lie. This was one of the most important steps in your plan. “I just like to be annoying. But... I don’t know... it’s just something couples do together sometimes, so I thought I would at least tr—“

“Fine.”

“What?”

“We may go.”

Bursting with a sudden surge of exhilaration you launched over and wrapped it up into a tight embrace. You had expected it to say yes, to become tired of your begging and inevitably agree, but you still felt excitement at the fact that your plan was still together so nicely.

“Wait.” You pulled away, eyes widened. “You can’t go like this. You have to... You know. You’ll have to change your uh... form...“

It sneered, letting you know that it wasn’t stupid.

You smiled again, passion and zeal returning before fizzling out almost immediately.

“Wait—“

“Oh, Child.” It groaned, closing its eyes. “What is it now?”

“Can you... Can you even _eat_ human-food?”

The question seemed to take it aback. It looked down to the carpet, cocked its head to the side.

“I have never tried.” It answered at last.

“Will you try?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Have you gone deaf?”

“Please?”

 _“Fine.”_ It hissed, shoulders dropping in defeat. “One bite, and no more.”

“It’s a deal.” You smiled, catching your lip between your teeth and letting it go. “Wanna come talk to me while I take a shower?”

It didn’t answer. It didn’t have to. It always loved to watch you shower; would open the curtain to draw its eyes over you while ignoring your protests about getting water all over the tiles. Sometimes it would even reach in and touch you, grab hold of your ass and give it an experimental squeeze; but it never got in to join you. You wondered for a moment if it had ever even had a shower— if it ever truly stopped to groom itself at all— but you decided its powers must be able to keep it clean. Otherwise, its suit that so often looks pristine and wrinkle-free would be constantly soaked in bodily excitement and sludge from the sewers.

It followed you into the bathroom, walking closely behind you so that you could practically feel it staring down at the top of your head. You always wondered why it even bothered, why it didn’t just teleport everywhere.

 _Maybe it’s to seem more human._ You reasoned, before shooing the thought away as if it were a tiny gnat.

As you stripped yourself down and huddled naked in the corner of the shower to avoid the first sprays of ice-cold water, you were surprised to see Pennywise willing away its suit. Its body was solid white this time again— the color of its face, with what looked to be peeling paint over the edge of its collarbone. It stepped gracefully inside; the frigid liquid apparently having no effect on its skin, and you held back pointing out that this was the first time it had ever done this with you.

“So, we’re mates now.” You paused to dip your head back into the now lukewarm water cascading from the shower-head. “But what does that... What does that even mean?”

Pennywise, standing tall in front of you, made no attempt to answer. Its hair was now dark, wet, and plastered over the curve of its forehead. It looked like one of those childhood-dolls your mother had given you that you had always promised to keep safe and dry, only to later ruin out of curiosity and boredom.

“Like... Are you my _boyfriend_ now?”

“I am not a boy.” It snarled, as though disgusted by the word. 

“Clownfriend?”

The two of you shared a long moment of silence, frozen in place with only the sound of the rushing water behind you.

“It means that I am your mate.” It answered at last.

“Okay, but what does that _mean?”_ You emphasized the end of the question by placing your hands out in front of yourself and then dropping them.

Pennywise frowned, and you couldn’t tell if it was water or saliva dripping down from its teeth.

“Is this a friends-with-benefits type thing? Are we married? Are we just dati— No, I’m serious! This is important stuff.”

Pennywise had dropped to its knees, hands on your hips, bare demon-like fingers ghosting its nails over your skin. When it glanced up at you through its lashes its eyes were glowing. They were yellow, the color of amusement and mischief.

“Is it?” It asked, a smirk curling up at the edges of its lips.

“Y— I— Yes.”

You couldn’t quite tell what that noise it made then was, but you were pretty sure it sounded like a sigh.

“These words have meaning to you.” It began, leaning in just enough so that you could feel the heat of its swollen lips teasing against your clit. “If that is the case... Then what, Little Thing, would you like us to be?”

You didn’t answer, not right away. It sat there patiently, looking up at you with its head cocked over to the left.

The question you were oh-so-carefully skirting around asking was: will this ever-too-gentle dance in the relationship ever come to an end? Is this just a stage, where it’s only being overly-careful with you so you don’t shatter like an egg? Will it become more comfortable with you once it realizes you can take it, or is everything about to come to an abrupt end soon anyway?

“I just...” You began, before relaxing your shoulders and letting out a sigh of your own. “I just know that I wanna be with you... And that I hope you feel the same way.” 

Pennywise purred softly in satisfaction. Then, without warning, it promptly shoved its alien-tongue deep inside of your cunt.

 _“Ah!”_ You squeaked, slapping a hand over against the fiberglass wall of the shower.

The clown’s wine-colored nose pressed flush against your clit, wriggling appendage burying itself as deep as it could go. You kicked your foot up to balance inelegantly on one leg, trying to spread your thighs to give it as much room as possible. 

“So much better than my shower-head.” You joked, before tossing your head back and letting loose a deep and breathy moan.

It wasn’t exactly fucking you with its tongue, not sliding it in and out of you. It was more like a pressure, a delicious thrumming against that swollen patch of nerves. There was no friction, too slick and smooth and covered with drool. That was no matter though. It was like silk, bending and molding to fill you up just fucking right.

“Christ, Penny, I— Oh fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck.”_

You placed your hand over its own, guiding it slowly up so that its fingers brushed over the swell of your chest. When you glanced down you saw tiny beads of blood, and were vaguely aware that the tips of its claws had pierced through the skin covering your hipbones. You couldn’t help but groan at the thought of it being so focused on pleasing you that it had finally let loose enough to wound you. Your whole body shuddered, but as soon as it smelled the blood it ripped itself out and away from you.

“No, _please.”_ You begged, hating the whine in your voice. “Don’t stop.”

It stood at once, hands turning back into something more gentle and human.

“No more.”

“What? No— I— I’m not hurt. See? You barely even poked me.”

 _“No more.”_ It insisted, nostrils flaring.

You stared up at it for a few more moments, breathless and panting, before it finally turned away and stepped out of the bathroom.

Guilt, you realized, feeling that awful and familiar sensation of tears welling up in your eyes. You felt guilt from knowing you were making it act in a way that was so far from its nature, for making it hold itself back, and for making it hide the parts of itself that you fell for in the beginning.

 _Pennywise will grow bored of this,_ you thought to yourself as you dried off and looked into the mirror. _It’ll get sick of having to water itself down. Then it will leave me, when exercising its wicked and violent ways have become too much to bear._

But you stiffened your lip and straightened your spine because _remember,_ you still had your plan. Everything had gone perfectly so far, and there were only like two more steps left to complete. If done correctly you were only a few hours away from making it lose itself in a flurry of passion— Yes, that’s the word. _Passion._ You didn’t want it to rip you in half, or murder anyone in front of you. You just wanted to give it a chance to show you that underneath that ever-so-gentle facade is still the monster you became infatuated with; and for you to show it that you wanted it, _all_ of it, and not just the human-like mask it wore around you.

In hindsight, a conversation would have probably worked a lot better. But how can you tell someone that you miss them when they’re sitting right there in front of you?

You shook away your negative thoughts with a gentle shudder and went straight to assaulting your unruly hair with every cream and spray you could find. Typically when you’d go out on a date you’d try to present yourself in a way that your suitor would find most attractive, but honestly you weren’t sure if Pennywise even _had_ its own concept of human-beauty whatsoever. So instead you tried to do yourself up well enough that if someone you knew saw you out with a person who was obviously a child-eating demon, you’d at _least_ be able to know you still looked fly as shit.

It’s still cold out at night in Maine, so after hastily applying your makeup you dug out that expensive jacket your parents gave you for your birthday to wear over your new dress. You slipped on a nice necklace, clasped together some complicated heels that were sure to leave your feet in ruins, and strutted out into the hallway to find your reluctant date.

“Pennywise?” You spun around as gracefully as you could in your outfit and glanced back down your hallway. “Where did you—“

When a human man walked out of your bedroom you felt your breath hitch in your throat. You were convinced for a split-second that someone had broken into your house, even going so far as to take a giant step back in fear.

“Holy shit.” You gasped. “What the fuck? Pennywise? Is that— Who— Who is this?” 

“Bob Gray... Dead now. Long dead.”

“Jesus Christ.”

The man’s voice was still Pennywise’s, still low and wavering yet somehow squeaky at the same time. It sounded so fucking weird coming out of the mouth of a person like that, like a dummy miming out the thoughts of some demented ventriloquist. 

“Can you uh...” You paused to clear your throat, confused about why you suddenly felt so nervous. “Can you do anything about that voice?”

“Is this better?”

His voice changed then, and the sound made you almost fucking cream in your dress. Everything about the form was so jarringly human, and it certainly didn’t help that he was the most striking human you had ever seen in your entire fucking life. You looked him over carefully, circling him like a shark and poking him as though to see if he was an actual manipulation of matter and not just some hallucinatory vision.

Striking. That was it. There was honestly no better word for it.

“I’m literally gonna look like a goblin standing next to you. Or a fucking... diseased salamander or some shit. Like— I’m gonna look like a human foot compared to you. Not a person. A _foot.”_

“Would you like me to be someone else?”

You thought about it for a moment. You were just on the urge of opening your mouth to tell it yes, when at last you saw it. The up-turned slope of his nose, the full lips, big rounded eyes; this was still somehow your Pennywise— or at least the human that would have lied beneath.

“No.” You answered, and something swelled in your chest. “This’ll work.”

The car was silent the whole ride there. For some reason your voice kept failing you, getting lost somewhere deep in your throat. Even simply concentrating on the road proved a fucking challenge, having to do everything you could to control your breathing and remind yourself that the thing inside of the beautiful stranger beside you was indeed still Pennywise.

It was all so convincing; even perfectly dressed like a man your own age. Its— or rather his— legs were so long he had to pull them almost completely to his chest, and it made you almost giggle wondering how he would look riding in your passenger-seat wearing the clown-form instead. You wondered for a moment if Pennywise had ever even ridden in a car, or ever driven one by itself. That night it brought your car back from the trailer you had wondered if it’d done just that, only to later reason that it had likely just manipulated matter or something and teleported the thing home.

“We’re almost there.” You whispered quietly as you turned off of the main road, almost like a warning.

It would be only a few more minutes, which seemed to tick on in the matter of seconds. You pulled into the back lot and parked your car as far away from anyone else’s as you could possibly fucking manage.

“Feeling nervous?” You asked, pulling your keys out of the ignition. 

“No.” Pennywise scoffed. “I am _never_ nervous.”

“Well, I am.” You laughed, to hide how anxious you actually were.

“I know. I can smell it.”

“What’s it smell like?”

“Not fear.” He answered, twitching his nose. “But close.”

You smiled then, before pulling your purse over your shoulder and making sure you had all your shit together. Pennywise stared back with what looked like worry in his now-chartreuse eyes, drool spilling over the corner of his lip. You reached forward to swipe it away with your thumb, surprised when he didn’t pull away.

“Jesus.” You remarked, suddenly feeling light-headed. “I can’t get over how you look. We’re gonna fuckin’— I’m— I’m gonna be the belle of the ball. Or, you know... in this case, the belle of the Chinese restaurant.”

The Bob Gray form simply blinked at you, either not understanding or not caring what in Hell you were rambling on about. You let out a soft laugh, before instructing him to step out so you could lock your doors.

Pennywise still didn’t quite understand the concept of holding hands to express affection, so instead you took him by the end of his sleeve to lead him toward the entrance of the restaurant. It was only then, out in the fresh spring air, that you realized he still reeked of blood and the sewer despite the immaculate form.

“People are gonna think I fuckin’ kidnapped you or something, and I’ve been keeping you in my basement.” You whispered one last time before following a large family through the double-doors. “Which is ironic, considering... You know...”

The hostess at the podium at the far right of the room greeted you both a little too loudly, smiling wide with a pair of chopsticks shoved deep into her hair. You were pretty sure you went to high school with her, though you couldn’t quite match a name to the face.

“Hey, can we uh... Can we get a booth over in the back corner? Like by the kitchen? If we have to wait that’s fine. It’s just uh... Yeah.” 

“Um...” You saw the way her smile faltered, but she glanced back over her shoulder anyway. “I think we actually have a table cleaned! You guys can follow me.”

As she led you to a booth at the very back of the restaurant you caught her stealing glances at your date, doing double-takes every so often. She laid down two menus and bundles of silverware, nearly dropping them from how intently she was staring.

“Your server will be right with you.” She told you quickly, rushing back towards her station.

Your heart started to pump wildly in your chest at those words, suddenly gleamingly aware of the fact that the next step in your ridiculous plan was about to fall into action. You turned back to look at your date as he sat down across from you, and dug your nails into the skin of your thighs that wasn’t covered by your dress.

“So.” You began, grabbing a menu and pulling it in close enough to skim through it. “How do you feel?”

“Terrible.“ Pennywise pulled his lips back in disgust. “So many humans.”

“It’s just one night. If you hate it—“

“I hate it.”

“If it’s _too much..._ Then we can leave. All that matters to me is that you try.” _And that this all works out the way I want it to without anyone actually dying._ “But hey— We probably won’t even be here a full hour. Then we can go home and watch the cave movie or I can read you some of those creepy stories you like... Does that sound okay?”

Pennywise huffed loudly in response, but you could tell he was being dramatic. After a moment of pouting he tried to pull his legs in close to himself so he could sit cross-legged in the booth. He failed almost immediately, falling forward and slamming his chest onto the edge of the table.

Around a dozen people spun around in their seats to see where in the hell that loud bang could have possibly come from. You could feel your cheeks heating up, but you ignored the stares with a shrug and a frown.

“You know, they say human flesh tastes a lot like pork. So maybe we should find something that has... You know, that in it.” You slid your finger down the list of menu items before suddenly stopping. “Here! Pork chow mein. I’ll just get that, and you can have a bite to see if you like it.” 

You glanced back up at him to smile, still unbelievably thrilled at the thought of actually being out on a date with Pennywise the Fucking Clown, when you noticed that his eyes were fixated somewhere over your shoulder.

“Who are you glaring at like that?”

You felt the hair stand up on the back of your neck, heart falling down into your uterus at the realization that the next step of the plan was actually finally happening. You craned your head slowly to the side and— Oh Jesus fucking Christ. He was just staring at a blonde-haired baby, bouncing around happily in her high-chair at the end of her parents’ table. 

“Goddamn it.” You hissed, whipping yourself back around and feeling your entire face turn bright red. “Penny— You can’t just stare— You’re a grown man. You don’t look like a scary clown-creature anymore, you just look like a creepy perv—“

“Sorry about your wait. Can I get you guys started on some drinks?”

You and Pennywise both jerked your heads toward your server as he appeared seemingly out of nowhere at the table, white shirt looking disheveled and mis-buttoned. 

You felt your shoulders drop, and a defeated sigh spilled out from your lips. It wasn’t the right person. You must have gotten your fucking times mixed up— or maybe they’d called in sick or something. Either way, there was no other way to continue on with the plan without them being here.

“Um...” You began, suddenly trying to snap yourself back into reality. “I think we both want uh...”

They must have been understaffed, causing this dude to have to run around chaotically between his tables. He looked at you with an apologetic expression, but when he looked back over to Pennywise his entire frame froze solid.

You could see clearly that the shapeshifter would have liked nothing more than to devour him whole, eyes drawing up and down over the man’s torso and neck. Pennywise pulled his own bottom lip between his teeth and sucked gently, and Jesus Christ the look on your waiter’s flushed face was enough to make you want to bolt out of the doors. He definitely thought then that your date was trying to fuck him. 

“Waters.” You choked out, stifling a noise that sounded like a mix between a laugh and a scream. “Two— Two waters please.”

Your waiter smiled awkwardly in return, and gave a little nod before hurrying away.

“Pennywise.” You whispered, clasping your hands smartly against the table. “You’ve gotta stop looking like that.”

“Like what, Little Buddy?”

“Like you wanna eat everyone in here.”

“But I do.” He snarled, casting his eyes over to an especially loud family beside you. “I want to eat every single human inside of this place.”

“What about me? Do you want to eat me?”

“No.”

“Not at all?” You asked, confused at the disappointment in your voice.

“No.”

“Alright. Then just... I don’t know. You’re allowed to want to eat people. Jesus that sounds so horrible when I say it out loud. But just— Just don’t make eye-contact with anyone else but me until we leave. You’re a human now... A _beautiful_ one.”

Pennywise quirked an eyebrow. You thought at first that he had definitely caught your drift, then felt yourself sigh when you realized he still hadn’t.

“They think,” you began, lowering your voice to hardly anything over a gentle murmur, “They think it means you want to _mate_ with them.”

Pennywise scoffed, tossing his human-head back in disbelief.

“Humans are stupid.” He spat. “They would believe a tree desired to mate if only it spoke sweetly to them.”

You shrugged, and closed your menu so that the next time the waiter passed by he’d know you were both ready to order. The plan may have failed, but you could at least make the best of the date anyway. You were out of the house with the being you wanted to be with more than anyone else in the world. Things weren’t so bad. They’re bad _now,_ but they certainly weren’t at that moment.

“Does it upset you being around people like this? Like, does it make you... edgy?”

“No.” It said flatly. “I have been around many more humans than this, and for much longer.”

“But it doesn’t like... Feel like I’m torturing you by making you come out here?” 

You worded your question carefully, testing to see if it would catch the way you’d said “make.” You expected it to snap at that, to tell you that you could not ever make it do anything it does not want to do; but instead the man just laughed and shook his head softly.

“The only emotion being in here makes me feel, Little One, is _hunger.”_

He smiled, and this time it was wide enough to finally show a row of perfect teeth. Your stomach tightened, and you decided then that it definitely no longer mattered whether or not tonight was a failure. You were going to suck the soul out of this form’s dick the second you got back out to your car.

You spent the time waiting for the server to return with your drinks and take your orders by talking to Pennywise about things you would talk about at home. You asked him silly questions out of curiosity and eternally nagging boredom, and he answered them all without a hiss or groan in protest. For all that lied beneath its human-like shell— the spider that preyed upon children and was said to despise everything about humanity— it really seemed to behave itself _really_ fucking well. It sat up straight in its seat, spoke at an appropriate volume, lowered its voice whenever the conversation veered toward something inappropriate. It even sipped water from its straw, an action that made you feel like you were watching a dog ice-skate around on its hind legs.

When your server finally arrived Pennywise even kept his eyes glued onto the table, following your orders of not making eye-contact with anyone else until you left.

“I think it’ll be good.” You assured him, as soon as the waiter was gone. “It’s not what I usually get... But I’d be shocked if it was bad. The food’s always great. I’ve been coming here since I was a kid.”

“I know.”

“Oh yeah.” You paused to let out a surprisingly uncomfortable laugh. “Fuck, I always forget you can see all my memories. Do you look through them on purpose, or does it just happen?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes what?”

“Sometimes I look.” Pennywise shifted in his seat, his thighs so long its knee brushed against your bare leg. “Not always. But they are always there for me to see.”

“Uh... Okay. I guess I get... What you mean... I dunno. If I could look through all your memories I would. I’d look at all of them.”

“There would be a lot to look through, Little One.“

“I guess you’re right.” You paused to take a sip of your water, suddenly regretting not asking for soda instead. “I’d still wanna try though.”

Pennywise pressed his head to the side and cracked his neck before shaking the stiffness out of his long arms.

“I have another question. I think that’s our food coming though so— shit never mind that’s not us. Okay so anyways... Were you... Were you _really_ going to kill me that day in my house? That time in the living room when you smelled my fear and I kicked over the popcorn?”

“Yes.”

You weren’t surprised, but it still made you raise your brows. You remembered the way its eyes had become as red as you’d ever seen them before, drool spilling out over its lips. It wanted to tear you apart in that moment. You probably would have been the easiest meal that motherfucker had gotten all week.

“What uh... What changed your mind then?”

He shrugged, pulling his lips into a frown.

“Oh, come on. You have to know.”

“I do not.”

“Tell me.”

“I cannot tell you a thing I do not know.” He hissed, leaning forward with his short nails trying out of sheer habit to press into the hard surface of the table.

You opened your lips to continue pressing, but then felt the presence of your waiter finally arriving with your plates. Again, Pennywise kept his eyes glued to the table and did not utter a word when his dish was placed in front of him.

“Does everything look okay?” The server asked, smiling politely with his hands clasped together behind his back. 

Pennywise pulled his lips back into a snarl, staring in what looked like absolute hatred at the steaming meal in front of him. His nostrils flared, but after a split-second the look on his face seemed to turn into one of curiosity instead of disgust. 

You enthusiastically told the server that everything looked great, and waited until he was out of ear-shot before turning your attention back on your mate.

“It really is good.” You assured him, heartfelt. “I wouldn’t have you try it if I really thought it was shit.”

Pennywise huffed in response, folding his long arms together like a stubborn little boy. In its old form it wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary, but in this form it seemed so endearing. You felt the warm strings of infatuation tugging at your cheeks, and began fumbling with the napkin to pull out your silverware.

“See?” You started, lifting a piece of cooked pork toward your mouth. “I’ll try it first.”

You popped the speared morsel into your mouth and began chewing, genuinely surprised at how good it actually was. 

“Goddamn that’s— That’s actually way fucking better than I expected. Now your turn. Unwrap the napk— Yep. There you go. Now just put it in your mouth, chew it, and swallow it. You know— Like you would one of your uh... Other meals.”

Pennywise used the fork inelegantly, gripping it with a closed fist the way a toddler would upon learning to feed himself. It brought the bite to his mouth quickly, making a small clinking sound as his teeth hit the metal.

His eyes went wide. You felt your breath hitch in your throat, before he then narrowed his lids into slits.

“Don’t you do it.” You whispered through gritted teeth, shaking your head slowly. “Don’t you dare do it. Don’t you spit that out on the ground. You take that napkin— Listen to me. You take that napkin, and you put it up to your mou—“

Pennywise leaned over and let the enormous half-chewed bite spill from its lips and onto the carpet with a soft plopping sound. You covered your face with your hands, a sharp slap of embarrassment reddening your cheeks.

Not linoleum, not tiles. Mother. Fucking. Carpet.

Maybe no one was watching. Maybe no one will wonder why on earth a male model in his twenties just spit out a load of half-chewed food onto the floor like an infant. Maybe no one even notice—

“Uh-oh!” A voice sounded out loudly from behind you, making your whole body jerk in surprise. “Looks like somebody doesn’t like the chow mein!”

You could see Pennywise staring into the face of the unknown person over your shoulder. From the sound of cups clinking together in their hands you were sure it was a server— or Christ maybe even the manager. You smiled sheepishly as you turned around slowly in your seat, only to find that the person standing behind you was the person you had originally came here to see.

Of fucking cock-sucking course.

His eyes went wide and bright upon recognizing you, and you felt an indescribable mixture of excitement and terror at knowing the plan was back on. This was it. This was the most important step of all. 

“Oh my God!” He exclaimed, opening his arms to you. “Oh my God _hi!”_

You stood quickly, pushing yourself forward into his embrace and letting yourself linger for far longer than you would have actually liked.

“Gabe! I had no idea I— I didn’t even know you worked here now!” You lied, through the cracks in your desperately faked smile.

You had no idea what was racing through Pennywise’s mind; how he felt or what he could have been thinking. For all you knew he could have been readying to spring forward, asking himself in his head whether or not holding back his hunger was any longer worth it. He could have been fuming, furious at knowing he had to come to face with someone who had once hurt you so deeply.

You sat back down in your seat, straightening the hem of your dress and puffing your chest out as much as humanly possible.

“Oh yeah!” He finally answered as though snapping out of a trance. “Just until I’m done with this semester though.”

You had no idea what to fucking say back. _Just smile, nod, and wait;_ you told yourself. Something will happen. _It’ll lose its temper, in some form or another; and then this (fucking ridiculous)ingenious plan will be finally be in the home-stretch._

“So what about you? What are you doing these days?” Gabe shifted side to side on his feet, shooting the man across from you a nervous smile. “Is this your— uh—“

“My boyfriend.” You blurted out, forcing yourself to keep your grin from faltering. “Yep. This is my new boyfr— Oh boy.”

You followed Gabe’s gaze over to Pennywise, and saw one of the being’s wide green eyes wandering far away from the other.

 _“Eyes.”_ You hissed under your breath, and at once its irises snapped back into place as if nothing had happened.

Gabe laughed awkwardly, and reached out a hand out towards your mate. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as Pennywise stared numbly at the outstretched appendage.

_Oh Christ this is bad. He’s gonna rip his fucking arm off and eat it like a piece of chicken. This is a bad idea and I am a stupid fucking bitch._

That was true, but luckily enough for you this moment was not yet the deciding factor. Instead of detaching your cheating ex-boyfriend’s arm by pulling it from its socket; Pennywise simply smiled softly, and took the other man’s hand firmly into his own.

“Robert.” Pennywise crooned, tilting his head to the side. “Robert Gray.”

“Where are you from, Robert?”

“Far.”

“Far?”

“Yes.” Pennywise repeated. _“Far.”_

“That’s uh...” Gabe nodded and let out an uncomfortable little chuckle. “Nice.”

He flipped back a strand of hay-colored hair, you know— like an absolute douchebag would do, and then turned his attention back toward you.

“So.” He grinned, and it was one of those smug grins that made you just want to roundhouse-kick him in the face despite not being able to do a roundhouse-kick whatsoever. “So yeah; I heard you were running around with Ricky now. And what’s his uh— What’s his little friend’s name? Brody? Josie?”

“Jody.” You corrected him, clenching your fingers into tight fists beside your thighs.

“Ah yeah, that was it... That’s funny. I always figured the second you graduated you’d be out of Derry for good. Not uh, still here palling around with the locals.”

You felt the a vein somewhere on your forehead begin to throb; anger and embarrassment at the sheer pettiness of his words. He knew you didn’t fucking graduate. You had a public breakdown that would have put 2007 Britney Spears to shame, immediately dropped out of your university, and got the first office-job that would agree to take you.

Oh, this guy was good. You may be an admittedly petty and snarky person at times, but in that moment you were certainly no match for an asshole like Gabe. _Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Pennywise just took a little nibb—_

“But yeah! I’m gonna get back to it I guess. It was great seeing you.” He smiled again, and shot you a wink that made your fucking skin crawl. “You two take care now.”

He left with a wave, disappearing into the large double-doors that led into kitchen. Pennywise’s eyes followed him all the way, like a death-stare, hands pressed flat against the table.

“That human,” Pennywise began, turning back toward you, “He fucked you.”

You felt your heart beating furiously in your chest, like a horse galloping behind your ribcage. This was it. It had to be. This was your chance to elicit a volatile reaction, and for you to let it know that the predatory and violent and sometimes even evil parts of it were parts that you have missed oh-so-fucking much.

“Does that... Does that bother you?” Your throat went dry as sandpaper, palms growing warm and damp as you dropped them back into your lap.

“No.”

_Wait. What?_

“No?” You asked, feeling that pumping red muscle behind your breasts come screeching to a halt.

“I do not care of who had had you before me. They were all humans. And _stupid.”_

_“_ Does anything... Is there _anything_ about him that bothers you?”

”No.”

”It doesn’t upset you that he hurt me? Used me— cheated— None of that bothers you?” 

“I told you, Child. I do not care of what anyone did to you before me.” 

It felt like someone had ripped the rug out from underneath your feet and sent you falling face-first into a pit of diarrhea. All thoughts and memories of your scheme flew from your mind— suddenly and utterly insignificant. That part of the night ended right then and there; and while you suppose it’s not quite fair to blame the plan in its entirety for what’s now happening to you in your kitchen, it certainly did lead up to that face-slap of an admission.

It did not care.

It could see into each and every one of your memories. The first time it made love to you it proved that it saw them so clearly it could even take pieces and manifest them again through tastes and smells and whatever the fuck else it could wrap its powers around. It knew all of the horrible things that piece of shit did to you in crystal-clear detail; every girl he fucked behind your back and every cruel thing he’d ever called you. Hell, Pennywise could probably even see the things he’d done to you that you didn’t even know about— and it didn’t even care.

It wasn’t angry that someone had hurt you so nonchalantly. It wasn’t jealous that he had had you before it. It just. Didn’t. Fucking. Care.

“Oh.” You answered quietly, dropping your gaze to watch a droplet of water as it raced down the edge of the glass.

You asked for the check as soon as your server passed by again, and threw down a large crumpled bill before hurriedly mumbling to Pennywise that it was time to go home.

It wasn’t that you wanted the creature to morph out like a fucking werewolf in the middle of the restaurant and eat your ex’s heart. In fact, you were almost completely confident that that wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities. You just wanted to see a crack in the shell, a tiny burst of amber light that reminded you that underneath all of it was still the being you’d been chasing after for months. Instead, what you had uncovered; was a realization so grim you didn’t even know what to do with it.

_It’s not holding itself back from being itself around you because it thinks you can’t take it. It’s holding itself back around you because there’s nothing fucking there. There’s no passion— no bite— because it just doesn’t give a shit anymore._

You hadn’t even realized you’d stopped referring to it as a he, despite the fact that it was still wearing that handsome form like a fucking skin-suit. Its lips had been pulled out into a thin line, eyes lidded and dull as it rode wordlessly in your passenger seat. If it could sense at all that you were upset with it, it certainly didn’t make any move to try and make up for anything.

You had no idea then that this feeling of disappointment would ultimately lead to your own destruction but hey— you were let down.

And what better way to deal with being let down, than to voraciously chug an entire party pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade while it stared at you in your kitchen? 

You’d eaten quite a bit at the restaurant. For this reason, you felt completely justified in drinking about three full bottles within the span of twenty minutes. Pennywise was still in its Robert Gray disguise, sitting cross-legged on the counter beside the oven. It had hardly spoken at all since you got back, and you’d only started acknowledging it now that your buzz had made you feel antsy and bored.

Eventually three bottles turned into five, and before you knew it you couldn’t even feel your face anymore. You knew it was probably a good idea to call it a quits there, but you realized rather quickly that you didn’t feel bitter anymore. You weren’t angry. You weren’t spiteful. You were just _sad._ You had overestimated its feelings for you, and the capacity in which it had to be an emotional lover rather than simply physical. 

A friend had once told you never to drink when you were feeling down, because alcohol only serves to amplify your emotions; but _boy_ was that motherfucker wrong. By seven drinks you felt good. You felt _great._ And at about nine drinks in your ass was floating on a fucking cloud.

You started talking to it as if nothing had even happened, your intentions becoming increasingly unclear. All the lines were blurred. You didn’t know if you wanted to leave it, fuck it, punch it in the face, or go back to your old plan of getting it to lose itself for you. Either way you kept fucking on, having no idea you were about to make what was probably the last mistake of your life.

“So let me get this straight.” You began, a hand clamped dramatically over your forehead. “You once got your ass handed to you... By a group of fucking _children?”_

Pennywise’s eyes narrowed, but the rest of its face remained hard.

“You’re— You’re kid— You’re joking.” You slurred out, leaning forward to rest your arms against the edge of the marbled bar. 

Still, it said nothing. You felt your eyebrows shoot up with an indescribable feeling of shock and amusement.

“You— You have fucking _telekinesis!_ Telepathy! You can shape-shift— and fucking— and can literally fucking manipulate matter! You’re immort— What the fuck?” You had to stop for a moment, laughing so hard you couldn’t even breath. “Please, at least tell me they were like teenagers or something and not actual little kids.”

Again, Pennywise didn’t move a muscle. It stared blankly at you, malice hidden somewhere deep in its eyes but never daring to shine completely through.

“It helped them.” It explained before twisting its mouth into something that looked like a mix between a frown and a snarl. “Old fool... Dead now. Good riddance.”

You sat up in your barstool, suddenly intrigued.

“What? Who helped them?”

“Stupid old thing.” It answered plainly, shaking its beautiful head.

“Wait— Was it something like you? A shapeshifter?”

Pennywise scoffed.

“Was it a human?”

Another scoff.

“A monster— Like something we’d watch in one of our movies?”

It rolled its eyes. 

“An animal?”

Pennywise froze, but you caught the way the edge of its lip twitched. Oh shit. You’d finally struck a nerve.

“Jesus.” You murmured, furrowing your brows. “That must have been one hell of an... of an animal. What kind was it? Something from this world?”

You watched as its pinked fingers extended, and then curled back up to clutch at the edge of the oven. Back in the old days it would have already growled at you, snapped at you, bared its sharklike fangs and warned that you were dancing on the edge of being consumed.

Maybe if you kept at it, you though to yourself, you could get it to do something like that again.

God you were drunk.

“Alright. New topic, because you’re obviously— You’re— You’ve got a stick up your ass about the kid-and-animal-helper thing. So uh... Hey! Hey. If I—“ You paused to burp, feeling liquid splash against the back of your throat before swallowing it back down. “You think you could— oh what’s the word... Fuck the living shit out of me?”

“No.”

“What? You _always_ wanna have sex. Even— Even more than I do. You’re v-v-voracious. Is that the word? I dropped out of college.”

Pennywise’s nostrils flared out in what you’re still pretty sure was amusement. It tapped its human fingers against its knees, not bothering to open its mouth to make a barbed remark.

“Is it because you drink I’m too think? I mean— Fuck, you know what I meant.” You paused to brush back a strand of hair from your now sweating forehead, sliding your near-empty bottle over to the side. “Look, I’m not even that drunk. Completely coherent. Look— Could a drunk person do _this?”_

You stood from your seat at the bar, and proceeded to walk from the edge of the couch and back in a completely zig-zagged line.

“Huh.” You remarked, letting your arms fall to your sides in defeat. “Shit. But... To be fair— I honestly don’t think I could have done that sober either.”

Pennywise rolled its eyes again, flared its nostrils out in disdain.

“Humans are fools.” It began, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how funny it looked saying something like that while looking exactly like a man. “Drinking a thing that can make themselves slow and vulnerable.”

“Maybe I _want_ to make myself vulnerable. To _you.”_

It snorted, a little huff of air that was almost too quiet to hear over the roaring of blood in your ears.

By now you were plastered, but it was the kind of drunk that tricks you— one that sneaks up on you too slowly to notice how fucked up you actually are. The last two bottles called to you, beckoned you to swig their sweet lemony nectar; but when you finished your drink and reached for another it slid away on its own. 

“What the fuck?”

You reached toward the bottle again, and once more it slid away from you without anyone touching it. You turned to stare at Pennywise, and in your drunken stupor it took you a moment to realize that it had been a product of its telekinesis.

“Oh come on. I’m not even that drunk. Not— Not compared to most times. I’m just tipsy. So come on. Get it? _Come?”_

“No.” It said firmly, letting its feet drop to hang over the edge of the counter. “You are making yourself sick.” 

“I’m making myself feel _good.”_ You retorted before clumsily wiping away a trail of spit from the edge of your chin. “Which is something I would except— I mean wouldn’t expect— For _you_ to know anything about.”

The gorgeous man froze, but you were too drunk to notice your words had gotten its attention the way that they had. Its face went lax, before slightly furrowing its brow and pulling its lips back to bare its perfect teeth.

“You know you just— You’re so _different_ now. Lame. Like a... Like a big ‘ole house-cat. You used to... Used to be _you._ You treat me like a baby now— and you didn’t even give a shit when you saw that fuckstick at the restaurant. You didn’t even give a shit. It’s like you don’t even— Pennywise?”

Your train of thought went off the rails into oblivion. Instead your mouth hung open stupidly, staring with a cocked head at the empty space where your mate had once been sitting.

“Where did—“

All at once you felt yourself lifted, invisible strings yanking you up high into the air like a tiny marionette. Your upper back slammed against the ceiling, knocking the air from your lungs with a sharp gasp. The rest of your body curved down into an almost cane-like shape, as though you’d been suspended from the overhead lights by the spaces beneath your arms.

And so _this_ , you absolute fucking idiot, is where you are now. Levitating in your kitchen with an invisible hand wrapped tightly around your neck. 

So yeah, maybe trying to wake up the eater of worlds part of your new lover was a pretty fucking stupid idea.

“P– wha— What— fuck—“

Feet kicking wildly into the air, you feel the mental grip on your throat tightening. A dark vignette forms at the corners of your eyes and the familiar signs of panic begin to set in. It’s not just the lack of air— it’s that you can feel the fucking blood welling up in your arteries, begging to reach your brain but becoming more and more unable.

Your big toe dances over the top rail of the barstool. Blindly, desperately, you urge yourself to try and find some kind of leverage from the psychic noose around your neck. If you can just find the right angle, maybe you can—

And just like that the hold on your body is released. You come down with a loud crash that sends you slamming knee-first onto the granite countertop. It’s a wonder you didn’t fucking split the thing in two from the sheer force of it.

Rolling immediately onto your ass, you spread your legs in hopes of gaining enough momentum to launch yourself back down to your feet. Pennywise stops you in your tracks, five long fingers wrapped so tightly around your throat you swear you’d just sat right up into a steel vice. It feels like concrete, its arm stretched straight out to keep a fair amount of distance between your faces. You can still breathe, but the power beneath its gloves is fucking horrifying.

“Jesus Christ— How did— Am I fucking— Am I fucking _sober?”_

“You think you hold some power over me.” It grates out, in a voice that sounds surprisingly low and steady.

Nearly every trace of likeness it had once had to a human has vanished, leaving nothing but Pennywise The Dancing Clown in its wake. Head tilting from side to side, carved-brow narrowed furiously into two slants; it looks like a fucking demon now. 

Your brain feels as though it’s short-circuiting, and that’s the only comparison you can find. Your muscles won’t work, stupid with fear. Have those spaces around its eyes always been so black? Has it always looked this horrifying?

_Has it always looked this beautiful?_

“You ca— You won’t— You won’t hurt—“

“You are right, Little One.” It hisses, smiling despite the furious red glow of its irises. “I won’t hurt you, and do you know why?” 

Maybe you can run for it. Maybe it won’t even bother to come after you. Your eyes dance wildly between the bend of its arm, the backdoor, and then back again to rest on its face.

“Because I care for you.” It answers at last, but the tone of its voice brings you anything but relief.

The lights in your kitchen surge, flickering wildly. You squirm in its grip, the end of your spine pressing painfully onto the marble.

“That is the reason I hold myself back from doing the things I so often want to do to you... That is the _only_ reason... Do you remember when I told you that you were no longer prey?” It bends its arm to bring its lips in close to your ear, making you shudder at the contact. “I lied. You are prey. _My_ prey. You belong to _me._ But make no mistake, Little Buddy. The moment I stop caring about you I will devour you, as slowly as I can force myself to do so.”

You let out a groan, nerve-endings on fire from how suddenly it changed your state of mind from hazy and euphoric to painfully sober. It moves back from you, pulling you by the throat to make you stand with your lower back pressing into the edge of the countertop.

“You do not understand kindness.” Pennywise hisses, moving its fingers from the front of your neck to the base of your skull. “You only understand power. Yes, yes I can smell the hunger for it on you— right _here.”_

“Oh fuck.” You breathe, when it suddenly cups at the swell of your cunt.

Its fingers are so long, rubbing back and forth over the bunched up fabric of your dress. It adds a little more pressure, and from its movements you can tell that you’re already soaking wet— were wet before it even touched you.

“You haven’t smelled this delicious since the first time you were ever afraid of me. I don’t know which scent I like better.” Pennywise pauses to slide the hem of your dress up over your hips. “Your greedy little cunt...” It moves its face in closer to yours, breath perfumed with the smell of spun sugar. Its jaws are parted ever so slightly. Its lips drip furiously with saliva, and you can almost feel it coming before its tongue slithers out of its mouth and licks a blood-hot stripe up the edge of your jawbone. “Or that beautiful _fear.”_

Before you can shudder or moan at the contact it spins you around; kicks your feet apart and presses the side of your face down flat against the countertop. The granite is like ice to your cheekbone, its arm shoved down hard against your upper back to keep you from moving.

“You were pushing me.” It growls, and you gasp when it releases the pressure on your spine.

“Yes.” You whisper, because it’s all you can think to say.

“You wanted to see how far you could go— how much it would take for the monster to return.” It drops to the ground behind you, uses both hands to grip at your ass. “You were a fool to think it had ever truly left.”

“Yes, Pennywise, oh fuck yes. What I wanted— Yes, this— Fuck.”

You can feel the wetness of its tongue as it glides generously over both of your cheeks, and the grazing of teeth as it playfully— or maybe not so playfully— bites at the spaces beside your thong. A moan spills from your lips when you feel it hook its fingers into the band and pull them all the way down to your knees. You can feel now that the gloves are gone, leaving behind those two extraterrestrial hands.

It’s never been like this before; never so unapologetically dominating and powerful and raw. You don’t know how it could get any better than this, when that wonderful tongue goes right back to work. 

_It’s eating your ass. Holy shit. The most dangerous predator to ever exist is literally licking your asshole._

The sensation makes you squirm; your brain having no idea what the fuck to make of it. The warm rubbing of flesh over your most intimate area is just— oh fuck. It’s almost too much. You try to get a hand down in between the tight space between your belly and the counter to help bring yourself off, but when it senses what you’re doing it grasps hold of your wrists and forces them to your side. 

“Please.” The whine that comes out of your mouth is probably the most embarrassing sound you’ve ever made.

“What’s the matter, _Little Buddy?_ Isn’t this what you wanted?” The vessel leaves the space between your ass as it suddenly stands and blankets your body with its own. “Wanted me to take instead of give?” It leans far enough over that its mouth is right in your ear again, tongue gliding over the shell of your ear. “Wanted me to show you that underneath it all, I am still very much a creature of consumption?”

“Oh my God.”

Its weight is like steel; and it both excites and horrifies you to know that one wrong move could either shatter your ribs or snap your spine into pieces. 

It leans back with a sigh, as if it’s fucking bored. It straightens its back, digs its claws into your hips like ten pin-needles popping right through your skin.

“You are a fool to think that filthy human did not test my desire to destroy.”

Its talons leave you suddenly, and in a moment of confusion you wonder what the fuck it’s doing back there. Then then you realize, with unbridled excitement, that it’s working at the ties of its pants. It’s never done it this way, always gets completely naked; and there’s something so hot about knowing it can’t be bothered to do anything more than simply free its cock enough to fuck you.

“I could smell him... As soon as he arrived. The stench of him. I wanted to pull out his heart and eat it as you watched me.“

Something wriggles furiously against your ass, large and warm and twisting around like a snake. There’s moisture there too, and you jerk violently away out of sheer instinct before you realize exactly what it is.

“When we left I made blood pour from that brat’s eyes, spiders spill from beneath his shirt. It was only in his head, only he could see it; but oh how they all laughed at him. The only reason I did not truly harm him,” It begins, and you feel the head of its alien-dick find its way to your entrance at last, “Is because I did not want to harm _you.”_

It presses in slow, so slow; and even despite the wetness that drips down the inside of your thigh it all feels impossibly thick— a painful stretch that seems only to be amplified by this position.

It moans, a low simian sound that’s like music to your ears. You wish you could see its face as it goes lax with pleasure, but knowing it’s fucking you from behind over your kitchen-counter is too delicious for you to even think about complaining.

“You were always so weak for this... You and your pathetic little schemes... You would have done anything for me to fuck you like this, to remind you that I am the one who holds the reigns.”

“Please.” You beg, needing it. “Please just— Just go. Start moving. Please. Anything.”

“No.” It hisses.

It buries its fingers into the ends of your hair and wrenches your neck back as far as it can go without snapping. Like a serpent its tongue breaches your lips, long and wriggling. It fills up your mouth, lips pressed firmly against your own before suddenly breaking away.

“I think I will take all the time that I want.”

Before you can stop it another whine pours out from somewhere deep in your chest. Its wriggling dick is buried to the hilt, and there’s a sharp stab of pain that comes with being filled too deeply. You squeeze your eyes shut, knuckles white from your grip on the edge of the counter in front of you. Then, like the answer to a prayer, it finally begins to fucking move. 

“Yes.” You groan, hoping to encourage it. “Yes, please— This is so— Fuck.”

The first several thrusts are glacial, fluid; pulling nearly all the way out and gliding slowly back in. It feels like fucking torture— the most pleasant torture that has ever existed.

“Such a filthy, dirty, hungry little thing. Who, but you, would ever even desire a thing like this? A monster like me buried so deeply inside of her cunt?”

You let out a loud moan, feeling hot tears spill from your eyes from the desperation. Pennywise begins to speed up at last, but it’s so subtle that it takes you a moment to even notice.

“You _love_ this.” It begins, finally thrusting with at a moderate pace that pounds forcefully against that wonderful patch of nerves inside of you. “You love the possibility that at any moment I could rear back at you like rabid dog. You fuck yourself to the thought of it, how easily I could turn on you and devour your still-twitching limbs if I wanted.”

“Don’t stop. Please— please don’t fucking stop.” 

Pennywise hisses, soft and sharp. It’s the sound it reserves for when you do something that pleases it. It stills for only a moment to readjusts its grip on your hips, and then proceeds to fuck you harder than anyone has ever fucked you in your life.

Each thrust is punctuated by one of your own loud squeaks, practically gasping at the relentlessness of its movements. You’ll have bruises tomorrow; from both the edge of the counter and the unforgiving grip on your hips.

“Mmmm yes, _take it.”_ It hisses, breath hot at the back of your neck. _“Take it take it take it take it.”_

Pennywise fucks like this is a race, like it might win some prize if it goes fast enough. It feels like a heartbeat verging on the edge between life and cardiac arrest— slamming into you over and over and over.

You could come from this and this alone, but it loosens its grip on your side and brings its hand around to the front of you. Pennywise twists your clit, rolling it between the textured skin draped over its fingers. You can feel your toes curling up, tingling sparks of energy that travel all the way into your heels.

“Are you going to come for me?” It asks, teeth grazing against the shell of your ear.

“Almost th-there.”

You turn your face to stare down at the counter, cheeks burning with some feeling you can’t quite distinguish. Pennywise clasps a hand around your throat, fingers falling into place just below your jaw.

“Ah, ah, ah.” It warns, wrenching your neck to stare at you out of the corner of your eye again. “Let me see you.” 

Pennywise’s words are like a call to action, a delicious suggestion that sparks the wick of your orgasm. It rips its way out of you like a sob; pulsations and bursts of pleasure that seem to reverberate through every synapse in your body. It fucks you all the way through it, dragging your climax out and stretching it as far as it can go.

When it’s over you’re breathless, face wet with tears from over-stimulation. You lie limply against the counter as it keeps going, too spent to do anything more than encourage it to follow you. 

“Please, Pennywise— _please_ come for me. Come for me. Come inside of me. I want to feel it. I want you to—“

Rutting madly, Pennywise squeezes its eyes shut. You can feel it coming, the brightening glow that tastes like copper at the back of your throat. It snarls aloud, every muscle in its alien body pulling taut. Then it hits, like a fucking bomb dropping inside of your body; replacing every fiber of your being with the sensation of its own orgasm.

Pennywise holds you in place, like an animal; presses its teeth into the junction between your shoulder and neck. It throbs inside of you, the force of its ejaculation so powerful that you swear you could actually fucking feel it.

“Pennywise.” You whisper, chest heaving. “Fuck, that was... Just... Fuck.”’

Its come rushes down your leg when it pulls itself out of you, hot as oil on your skin.

“I do not enjoy hurting you.” It admits, when you turn around again to face it.

“You didn’t hurt me. I loved it. I love—“ 

You stop yourself, surprised at how easily it almost rolled off of your tongue. You’ve never given much thought to whether or not you actually love it, but there it was ready to spill out of your mouth as if it had done so a million times before.

You drop your gaze to the floor, pretending to focus on the task of pulling your thong back up and into place.

“Did you mean it when you said you’d eat me if you stopped caring about me?”

It lets out a soft snort in amusement, blue eyes twinkling even in the dim glow of the kitchen. “No. I will never eat you, Little Thing. You have my word.”

You nod at it, softly. Its smile fades, turns into something that almost resembles sadness.

“Do you enjoy being my mate?” 

“What?” You ask, genuinely surprised. “Yes, of _course_ I enjoy being your mate.” You use every bit of strength you have left to hoist yourself back up onto the counter, grabbing it by the fabric of its suit and pulling it in close to you. “Why would you even ask me that?”

“You do not enjoy me being kind to you. That is why you did this— You wanted me to be cruel to you.”

“What? No I— Wait... Pennywise... I... Yes. I want you to be kind to me, but I also... Sometimes I feel like it’s forced. Like you’re holding yourself back.”

It stares at you, its express calm and unreadable. Its hair is matted and wild, bright tufts of hair spread out all over its scalp. The sight is endearing, but you stifle the urge to run your fingers through it and continue with what you were trying to say.

“I fell in l— I mean— I started liking you because of who you are. You know... volatile, and powerful, and reclusive, and scary, and so fucking... You were so fucking passionate. Everything you did... That was just who you are, you know? But now...”

“Go on.”

“Now I just... I don’t know how to explain it. I feel like you’re tired, and bored, and like— like you’ve hidden those parts that made you... _You.”_

It blinks at you, and you let out a sigh.

“You take things easy on me—“

Pennywise scoffs. “You would rather I harm you? Kill you? Bleed you out like a small child?” 

“No, that’s not— I just meant that I feel like you’re holding back. It’s not that I want you to hurt me... Well, maybe sometimes I want you to hurt me. But it’s just that I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t be who you really are. If I annoy you—“

“You are always annoying me.”

“—then I want you to tell me. If something bothers you, like really bothers you, I want you to tell me. Show me. Lose your temper sometimes. I can take it...“ You pause, reaching out to take both of its enormous and now-gloved hands into your own. “I just— I don’t want you to hold back for me. If you feel something, act on it. Just don’t— don’t fucking rip off one of my hands or anything.”

Pennywise smirks, and grips tighter on your finger to show you that it could. You can’t help but smile back at it, feeling the tension in your shoulders drop. But then its face goes lax, and it narrows its brows. 

“I frightened you before.” It whispers, confused. “Not like tonight. I _truly_ frightened you. You were afraid of me.”

“Well, I mean— Yes. You did scare me. That time on the couch— and in that shitty-ass trailer... But you didn’t hurt me. Not really. Everything I felt after that night was misdirected. I shouldn’t have blamed you, or been afraid of you for that.“

“You will still care for me even if I frighten you?”

“I mean, it takes a lot for you to frighten me... But I guess what I’ve been trying to say this whole time is that yes. You’re a fucking scary-ass thing. It’s who you are, and sometimes the stuff you do is gonna be weird and terrifying and immoral-as-hell. But I still want you to do it. And I’m still gonna love you. Because it’s just who you are.”

“I love you too, Little Thing.”

You smile softly, pulling it in for a hug. Then, after a moment, your brain realizes what the fuck you’ve just said to each other.


	11. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spooky night with your clown-boyfriend. Your cloyfriend, if you will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* I saw Halloween last weekend and now I really wanna fuck Michael Myers. Can’t wait for IT part 2 to come out and reignite my love for my one true horror villain. I need some more of that gooOOood clown content !!!

“Would you like me to help?”

Pennywise’s words are sharp, enunciated; like an unskilled actor reading out his lines instead of actually trying to convey them. It makes you pause for a second, sock-covered feet pausing in their tracks. Ultimately you decide against it, brushing away its offer without a second thought. 

“Nope.” You grunt out, knees shaking from the effort. “I’ve got it.”

“This would be over much sooner.”

“And where’s the fun in that?”

Pennywise watches you with a dull expression as you try your fucking damndest to guide your mattress down the stairs towards the living room. It takes what feels like an hour for you to finally reach the landing, dampened baby-hairs clinging to the skin on your forehead. You make your way over to the space in front of the television and let the king-sized square that you got for free last year from some pretty Russian lady on LetGo tip over towards the floor.

“See?” You pant out, doubled over with your hands on your knees. “Piece of fuckin’ cake.”

The couch has already been pushed back, rug rolled up and sitting in a corner by the kitchen. All save for your sheet-covered mattress and the television, the living room is completely empty. You use your big toe to skillfully press the power button on the remote, and head over towards the edge of the stairs to grab the pillows and sheets.

“I know Halloween’s a bit of a ways off... But I dunno. I remember there was always this thing on T.V., when I was a kid called ‘Scary Saturday Night Sleepover,’ and so I always wanted to have a whole night where I camped out in the living room and did a bunch of spooky stuff with someone.” You pause, running around between the kitchen and various corners of the living room to get everything in order. “I tried to do it with my last boyfriend but he was always busy— you know, with the cheating and everything— so it just never really worked out.”

At last everything is in order. You spin back around towards it to find it sitting cross-legged on the end corner of the mattress. You close the distance between yourselves, but when its face stays stoic and blank you feel your shoulders drop.

“Yeah... This was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have d—“

 _“No.”_ Pennywise hisses, shooting a clawed hand out to grip at the base of your arm. “Not stupid.”

You look into its eyes, still luminously blue even through the darkness of the living room. Ever since last month at the restaurant it’s grown intolerant of sensing anything from you that even remotely resembles disappointment— the scent of it almost seeming to cause it actual physical pain. Your fear it can handle, only so long as it is intentionally brought on by itself with your permission; but never _ever_ any bursts of emotional pain.

It smiles softly at you, teeth poking out from behind its top lip; and the sight warms your chest from the inside out.

“I love you.” You whisper, for what’s probably already the millionth time today.

“I love you too.” It repeats, just as it has every time; but even still the sound of those words are enough to knock the air from your chest.

It loves you.

_It loves you._

A creature whose true form cannot even be conceived by the human-eye, who has preyed upon man since their beginning, who has never in its millions of years on this earth ever once taken a mate; mother fucking _loves_ you.

“Are you sure you know what love—“

“Yes.” It hisses, narrowing its eyes.

“Say it again.” 

“I love you.” Pennywise insists in a way that resembles a growl. “Love. Love, love, _love.”_

You smile. You’re happy— more than words could ever do justice. All your life you’ve always had this longing feeling, like you’re trying to go home but you just can’t get there. All your thrill-seeking and boredom and general discontent, they’ve always pushed you on your journey to find something you didn’t even know existed. You smile, because you know that you’ve found everything you’ve ever wanted. This is what home feels like. Here, with Pennywise; this is your home. 

“Okay!” You begin, suddenly snapping out of your love-induced haze. “So I’ve got a lot of different stuff here that we can choose from. We can make sugar-cookies in the shape of little ghosts, or play with my ouija board, or carve pumpkins, or you can fuck me from behind while we watch Candyman, or—“

“What is Candyman?”

“What? You’re telling me in all your time on earth, not one kid’s biggest fear has ever been the fucking Candyman?”

Pennywise stares up at you, blankly.

“He’s only the fucking scariest horror villain I’ve ever seen! That movie fucked me up when I was a kid. And then again, a few years ago when I watched it in high school. It’s like the old Texas Chainsaw movie— Just plain ass freaky.”

“It is a person?”

“More like a demon, really. Like Bloody Mary kind of.”

“It is real?”

“Yeah it’s— oh. You meant— No, it’s just a movie. But they finally put it back on Netflix, so I figured we could watch it after we did some of the other stuff.”

You reach down to take your mate by the hand in a failed attempt to help it to its feet. It’s so fucking heavy in this form, as if its very bones were made out of steel. It smirks at your effort before standing by itself, eyes flashing like fireflies in the dark. You guide it over to the small kitchen table and urge it to sit in the seat to the left of you.

“Okay, so I got this thing off of eBay a couple years ago. It was like a hundred dollars, which I’m pretty sure now was a ripoff. But hey, maybe not.” You pause to move the flat board in closer towards the pair of you, nails dragging over the cool surface. “I was convinced for a long time that the paranormal was all just a bunch of fuckin’ hoopla, and then, you know... Then I met you. So who knows, maybe we’ll be able to contact something tonight.”

Pennywise scoffs, crinkling the scarlet tip of its nose. “Foolish child-game. There are no spirits on this earth.”

“How do you know?”

“I know all.”

“Wrongo. You didn’t even know who The Candyman was. Besides, one time I played with my old best friend Donna and the board told us—“

“Your friend played a trick on you.” Pennywise says flatly. “It was her hand that moved the heart.”

“Yeah, well—“

“It is not real.”

You glare at the clown defiantly before slapping your hand down onto the plastic planchette. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and raise your fingertips to press lightly enough so that the velvet at the bottom has just enough pressure to slide around without you intentionally moving it.

Pennywise huffs, and you can hear the tell-tale jingling of tiny bells as it shakes its head in annoyance. You try to keep your hand steady, but as the minutes tick by you can feel your fingers begin to tremble.

“Is there anyone here with us?” You ask, slowly opening your eyes. 

The planchette begins to move, tiny jerking increments as it slides diagonally towards the left hand side of the board. You’re almost sure that it’s all in your head— your body’s subconscious need to move the heart-shaped hunk of plastic towards the correct answer— but you still let out a gasp anyway when it reaches ‘YES.’

Pennywise stiffens. It leans in forward in its seat, crossing its arms. Its hands are no longer gloved and human, but instead an odd demon-like mangle of claw and blue-grey flesh.

You move the planchette back into place.

“How many of you are there?”

It moves again, faster this time. You can practically feel your hand being pulled and guided to the numbers at the bottom of the board, slowing to a stop at what looks to be the number ‘1.’

“Jesus.” The hair stands up at the back of your neck, prickles of gooseflesh racing across your arms and legs. “Are you a spirit?” 

‘NO.’ The ouija board answers, even faster this time.

“Are you... Are you a demon?” 

This time the heart practically flies across the board. You let out a squeal of panic and jerk your head up to meet your mate’s eyes— only to find them glowing yellow with satisfaction.

“Oh, you clown-faced son of a bitch.”

Pennywise cackles in wicked delight, staring at the planchette while it zooms over various letters and numbers. It’s so pleased with its own trick that you can’t help but feel yourself soften, shaking your head as you stand to put the now-animated board back in its box.

“I really thought we’d gotten a spirit.”

“You do not need a spirit.” Pennywise insists, cheeks pulled up into a happy grin. “You have _me.”_

It stays in its seat, waits patiently for you to pull out the next activity for the night. You spread out a couple newspapers across the wooden surface of the table, then hoist up two plump pumpkins from underneath your seats with all the strength you can manage.

“No.” The clown firmly insists, once you’ve finished. “I will not eat this.”

“What? No they’re— These are not for eating. They’re for carving.”

“Carving...”

“Yep. When I was in high school there was this girl named Carmen, and she was really good at carving pumpkins. She was always posting about it on Instagram... Anyways I really fuckin’ hated Carmen, so naturally I decided to teach myself how to 3D-carve instead. You know, to one-up her.” You lay out an orange-stained dopp-kit and spray-bottle out in front of your seat before sitting down. “So now here we are, four years later, and I have a skill that means absolutely nothing... That I attained out sheer and unbridled spite.”

Pennywise purrs, amused with your story and the memory it can see behind it. “You are a strange little thing.”

You smile back at it, resisting the urge to repose that it is also a very strange thing. Instead you clear your throat, and explain carefully to your lover all the mechanics of pumpkin-carving and the intended goal of doing so.

Pennywise, in turn, nods its head at you and listens with lidded eyes. It then promptly faces back towards its own pumpkin, and gores its claws across the skin of it in five deep gashes.

“That’s not—“ You begin, only to stop yourself once you see the proud look on Pennywise’s face. “— I mean— That’s uh... That’s really good. Different. I like it.”

Its eyes flash bright with satisfaction, obviously entertained by the sensation of the pumpkin’s cool flesh beneath its talons. It continues on, varying between tiny scratches and punctures as you begin work on your own round canvas. It almost reminds you of a cat with a toy, and you quickly realize that a lot of things Pennywise does are very feline in nature. You ponder the thought while you carve and sculpt, stopping only once your attention span has met its burned-out end. 

There. It’s sloppy, and not near as detailed as you’d have liked, but the proportions are perfect.

“Look.” You exclaim happily, spinning your finished work around to face it. “I made you.”

Pennywise freezes. Its eyes narrow, tilting its head to the side and leaning in slightly.

“See? There’s your weird little eyebrow, and your teeth, and your nose. It’s you! I made your face.”

It smiles widely once it sees it, bottom lip pulled down as though by an invisible string.

“Yes.” It agrees, but there’s something unfamiliar in its voice. “Yes... That is me.”

It must be able to sense the way your expression falters, or the way your heart speeds up in your chest; because it reaches toward you and cups your cheeks with its hands. It pulls you in close, presses its mouth against your own for a quick lip-smacking kiss.

Jesus Christ. After all the things you’ve done with it, all the time you’ve been around it; and it still gives you butterflies when it does things like this.

“Alright.” You choke out, trying your best to continue on with the night instead of giving in and begging it to fuck you to sleep. “Let’s clean up and go put these bad-boys out on the porch.” 

It hums in agreement, following you instead of actually doing anything to help.

Once that’s all been taken care of it stubbornly refuses to have anything to do with the sugar cookies. Instead, it merely watches while you have a grand-old time baking and twerking to the Michael Myers theme song. In the end they all come out a little burnt and shaped more like the Slimer from Ghostbusters than your typical ghoul. You decide to just say, “fuck it,” and leave the flour-coated kitchen to retire back into the living room.

“You’ll like it.” You insist, before hastily turning on the movie. “I know you usually don’t like the movies I pick out, but you’ll like this one. I swear.” 

However, the fact of whether or not Pennywise likes The Candyman is a mystery that will further remain unsolved. It takes only ten minutes for its snuggling against you on the mattress to turn into dry-humping; and only about two for that to turn into real-humping.

It fucks you in quick, shallow thrusts from behind, hands bracketing your own flat against the mattress. Its body cradles yours, leaning completely over you while animalistic whines spill out from its lips. Its breath blows hot against the back of your neck, pumping desperately for what feels like the entire length of the movie. You have no complaints though. In the end you come twice, once from its cock and once from your own fingers working at your clit. It follows you as the movie nears its end, wrenches your head back as it throbs inside of you with its teeth in your hair.

The living room fades perfectly from bright bursts of swirling orange light into darkness, and while you don’t exactly remember falling asleep you find yourself suddenly awake with its heavy head on your belly.

Everything is still dark, save for the dim glow of various lights in the kitchen behind you. Sharp, eerie music blasts from the speakers of the television as the movie’s credits roll. You decide instead to play something just a little less depressing, so after stretching backwards to turn off the power you then reach for your phone to play Spotify instead.

“What is this?” Pennywise grumbles, stirring and rubbing its enormous head of hair against your navel.

You pause for a second, confused.

“The song?” You ask, voice strained from how tired you are. 

The clown grunts, its most primal excuse for a “yes.” 

“Oh... Uh... I don’t know, really. Something from the Moulin Rouge soundtrack. Why?”

“Because.” It states plainly, before yawning and snuggling even closer against you. “I enjoy it.”

The butterflies come back, like fucking chest-bursters just dying to erupt their way out of your belly. It’s never told you that it enjoys music before, of any kind. You open your eyes and peer down at it, heart skipping a beat at how relaxed and pleased it looks just lying there between your legs with its head resting on top of you. 

“I really do love you.” You whisper, confused at why you suddenly feel like crying. “You know, I— I’ve had boyfriends say it to me before—“

“I know.”

“—and I’ve said it back... But it’s only until now that I realize I didn’t mean it. I couldn’t have. Because I didn’t know what love was... What _true romantic_ _love_ was... Until I met _you.”_

Pennywise opens one of its eyes, stares up at you happily.

“And I did not know that I _could_ love.” It answers. “Until I met you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter comin real soon y’all. Originally this chapter and the next were all going to be one part, but after writing it really just makes sense for me to split them up. Not to mention the next chapter is about to be a big ole boi and this scene really got drowned out by it when they were together.


	12. Parents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know this chapter is cheesy as hell. I am aware. I added extra mozzarella to this bitch. Get ready.

 

“Hey, Mom. It’s me. I uh... I have news. But you can’t— don’t— don’t get all weird and make it a big deal.”

“It’s a boy.”

“Yes.”

“It’s Jody.”

“What? No, it’s— It’s not Jody, Mom.”

“Then who is it?”

You pause for a moment, the screen of your phone growing hot and sweaty against your ear.

“His name’s...” Fuck, what was that name it used that night at the restaurant? Roger? Robert? Yes, that was it! “His name’s Robert.”

“Does Robert have a Facebook?”

“No, he doesn’t have a Facebook.” You squeeze the bridge of your nose tightly, pulling up a barstool so that you can sit down. “But... Anyways I was— I was calling because... Because I really want you guys to meet each other. You know... You, and Dad, and Walter.”

“Well that sounds nice. Maybe we can all go to dinner at the Jade of the Or—“

“No!” You blurt out, trying to stifle the panic in your voice. “Erm, I mean uh... He’s really... He’s shy.”

Your mother doesn’t say anything back. She just sits there on the line, leaving a long and drawn-out stretch of silence.

“I was thinking maybe we could just come over this weekend? You know, just hang out at the house?”

“Alright.” She answers, voice thick with the accent that always comes out when she tries to speak sweetly. “Your brother’s got a game Saturday morning, but I’m pretty sure we’re all free the rest of the day. I can make that chicken piccata recipe I—“

“Sounds great, Mom. Love you. Gotta go though. I’ll see you Saturday.” _Probably._

You rush her off the phone, eager to get back upstairs and slide into bed with your beloved man-eater.

It’s Sunday, which has become a day of literal rest for the pair of you. You both lie in bed from sunup until sundown, cuddling and fucking and watching YouTube videos and then fucking again. It’s been somewhere around a month since that night carving pumpkins in your living room, and those thirty-something days have been nothing but absolute bliss. Sheer, unmatchable, rose-tinted bliss. Love may be a chemical con-job, but it is the most glorious con that has ever been pulled.

Pennywise’s head drops over to the side when it senses you standing in the doorway.

 _“Little One.”_ It mouths, eyes as light as they’ve ever looked before.

You strike a dramatic pose against the door, suddenly especially glad that it doesn’t understand human behavior well enough to notice how fucking stupid that was.

The clown’s arms reach out towards you, supernaturally long; pulling you gently back toward bed like a shepherd with a crook. You move to climb on top of it, then stradde its waist with knees that can only rest against one side of the bed from how wide its body is.

It’s only recently allowed you to do this to it, letting you put it in such a submissive position. A couple nights ago it even went as far as letting you pin its arms above its head while you rode it.

It stares up at you, expression lax yet happy at the same time. Drool spills from the edges of its mouth and rolls down both of its cheeks, but you reach down and take its face into the palms of your hands anyway. 

“Would you do something for me? If I asked you?”

“I would give you the moon.” Pennywise answers, almost smiling. “If you asked it of me.”

An enormous hand once rested on your thigh now drags slowly towards the front of your panties. Your eyes follow it there, watch its thumb stretch out towards where it knows your clit would be behind the cotton.

“There’s somewhere I want you to go with me.”

Pennywise halts, body turning to steel beneath you. Its eyes fade into a darker shade of blue, nearly sapphire before you speak again.

“It’s kind of like... Well it’s a date. Only it’s different— and we don’t have to do it until you’re ready.”

It doesn’t say anything. It just lies there, staring up at you with what you’re sure must be well-deserved suspicion.

“There’s no ulterior motive.” You assure it, shifting to make yourself more comfortable. “This isn’t a scheme... There’s no plot— no secret plan. This is just something I really wanna do.”

“Because you love me?” Its voice is soft, wavering and coated in ash.

“Yes. And this is something people do when they’re in love.”

Pennywise frowns, only for a moment before pulling its lips back out into a straight line.

“You want me to meet someone.” It reasons, tilting its head to the side.

“Yes. A few people actually... But only when you’re ready.”

“Then I will meet them,” it begins, staring off somewhere at the wall behind you, “when I am ready.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Just stay in the car for a second.”

You close the door. A wide-eyed Robert Gray stares from behind the tinted glass, becoming harder and harder to see as you back slowly away. Then you turn, holding onto the bottoms of your jean-shorts so they don’t creep their way up your ass as you jog steadily towards the place you grew up in.

Your parents have a lot of money— more than you sometimes think they even know what to do with. Their driveway is exhaustingly long, a winding strip of polished concrete that leads to one of the biggest houses in Derry. They’re both standing there waiting, eyeing you from the edge of the pool deck as you run breathlessly up to meet them.

“Hey there, stranger! Long time no see.” Your father shouts, brows raised in delight upon seeing you.

“Hey.” You pant, bending forward with your hands on your knees. “Robert’ll be here in a second, he’s out in the uh— The car.“ You stand back up straight and turn towards your mother, trying to look as serious as you can. “Mom.”

She whips her head back over to you, completely overdressed for a day of just hanging out by the pool. Lips pursed together, she waits for you to continue.

“Please... Don’t... Don’t ask him a bunch of stuff. He gets stressed out really easy—”

“Stressed out easy? What, is he a pet bird?” Your mother laughs, taking a sip of her water-bottle that most definitely contains about two servings-worth of Smirnoff Ice.

“No. I’m serious. He’s... He’s really different... And I don’t want you guys to upset him. I really care about him... Just— Just _please.”_

“Alright, _alright.”_ She digresses, placing her manicured hands out in front of herself to reassure you. “We’ll give him his space.” 

“Good. Because I’m serious.”

_“Okay.”_

“Now go on and get the poor thing before he overheats.” Your father adds, gesturing towards the half-hidden front of your car.

You turn away to head back up the driveway, but hear the passenger door open before you can even get down the stairs of the deck.

“Good Lord.” Your mother exclaims under her breath as soon as she sees him. “Is that him?”

The Eater of Worlds, in its beautiful human disguise, rounds the edge of the house and strides confidently up the sidewalk towards the three of you.

You’ve finally gotten used to it in this form; come to see it as an extension of itself. It looks like Pennywise, feels like Pennywise; only stripped down and bare with its pink skin and plain-looking clothes. Its hair is dark and pushed to the side, hands stuffed into the denim pockets of its pants. It’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, even despite the bias of how fucking in love you are with its clown-like form.

“Hi there!” Your father croons, reaches forwards and introduces himself.

Pennywise mimics his movements perfectly, expression brightened by the midday glow of the sun. It looks absolutely radiant, one hand still hooked into its jeans with the other wrapped firmly around your father’s palm. Once it’s finished it turns its attention toward your mother, punches the air from your lungs when it unexpectedly moves in for a hug.

“Jesus, you’re a big guy!” She comments loudly, leaning back to look your date up and down.

You resist the urge to blurt out “for you,” like that Bane line from The Dark Knight Rises, while Pennywise just grins happily.

“Yes.” It agrees, nodding its head in strange, jerky movements. “I am very tall.”

Your parents both laugh, loud fake chuckles; probably in a desperate attempt to cover up how awkward they must feel right now. It’s been a long time since they met one of your boyfriends, or even one of your friends in general. They probably know just as much of what to do with themselves now as the alien child-eater standing in front of them. 

_Maybe I should pretend to get diarrhea or something so that we can go home. After all, I really did just want them to meet. All the extra stuff is just—_

“I‘m gonna run in real fast and get you guys a drink!” Your mother offers cheerily, holding her hands awkwardly together. “What would you two like?”

Pennywise’s now-hazel eyes dart over toward your own, uncertainty evident its expression.

“He’ll take a water. Can I get an orange soda though? Like a Nesbitt or something?”

She nods her head, gives a little wave before disappearing through the sliding glass door at the back of the house.

Your father watches her leave, looking almost-panicked at the fact that she’s abandoned him out here with the two of you. He shakes away his inhibitions, turns back with a sheepish smile and guides you both over to the far side of the deck.

“You guys can sit wherever.” Your dad gestures towards the two round patio tables surrounded by surprisingly cushioned chairs. “Except here.” He adds, protectively slapping his hand down on the seat next to him. “This is my chair.”

You shake your head and let out a snort of air in amusement before guiding Pennywise to sit down beside you.

It’s impossible not to laugh at the surreality of the situation, the fact that you’ve brought the bogeyman of Derry home to meet mom and dad, and the fact that you’re all just chilling around the pool like it’s nothing. You wonder for a moment what your parents would do— what they would even possibly _say_ — if they knew the truth of what lied underneath the skin of your beautiful lover. For some reason the thought makes your chest hurt, so you kick off your sandals, enjoying the feeling of the warmed wood beneath your bare feet.

“Hey, Dad?”

“What’s up?”

“Where’s Walter?”

Your father shrugs. He leans forward to try and peer through the wooden bars of the deck-wall, then checks over both of his shoulders.

“I dunno.” He admits, quickly giving up. “Running around here somewhere.”

You and your brother didn’t have a good relationship together before you left for college. The age gap was too awkward, and your patience and self-control far too limited for you to be able deal with someone so young and hyperactive. You’d probably even go as far as to say you guys fucking hated each other, but lately it’s been a completely different story.

“Maybe out in the building.” Your father adds, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Ah.”

Soon your mother returns with your drinks, which Pennywise ravenously chugs while your parents pretend not to look. After he— _it_ — is finished it turns towards you, smiling happily with water dripping down its throat and completely drenching the front of its shirt.

Your dad makes some lighthearted comment about how if your date is _that_ thirsty he could always go drink right from the waterhose, to which Pennywise takes in complete seriousness.

You grab it by the sleeve to pull it back, laughing as if it was all just a cute little joke. 

After the initial awkwardness wears off, things go surprisingly well. Your mom cooks up an unseasoned meal, which everyone but Walter eats on trays around the pool. You can’t remember what you said was its excuse for not eating very quickly was, but you shrug it off and enjoy being in the sun-soaked presence of the people you love most in this world.

After dinner is over you all head back inside. Pennywise, of course, merely slowly willed away the contents of its plate without eating them; and you’re pretty sure you can hear the faint grumbling of its stomach once you shut the sliding-glass door behind you. 

 _That must be torture._ You think to yourself as you lead it over to sit beside you on the loveseat. _Having to go through so much trouble for a meal, never being able to eat anything around the person you love. Thank God anytime I start craving a snack I can just bust open a bag of Chips-Ahoy, and don’t have to— you know— do what Pennywise does._

“You guys want any popcorn?” Its your mother again, eager to please her new guest.

It’s always been a summer tradition for everyone to watch Jaws together— one that you started more years ago than you can even remember. You don’t know what the fuck it is about that movie; why it appeals to you so much. For someone who is deathly afraid of every single creature in the ocean; you sure fucking love that masterpiece of a shark-movie.

“I’ll take some.” You answer, refusing to ever pass up the chance at a free meal despite being almost painfully full.

Pennywise grins at you, white teeth catching in the light of the living room as it happily mutters, _“Pop pop!”_

"What?” You ask, wondering why in hell the prospect of popcorn makes it so excited. 

“So how did you guys meet?” Your dad interruptd, mouthful of Cheez-Its. “That’s a thing fathers are supposed to ask, right?”

“We met at college.” You answer quickly, before Pennywise has the chance of doing so itself.

“That’s neat. You still in school, Robert?”

 _Say yes._ You urge it, knowing damn well it can’t read your thoughts  

“No.”

“He’s uh... He’s taking a year off.”

“Ah.” Your father nods his head. “Good for you.” 

Like the answer to a prayer your mom finally returns with the popcorn. She’s being nice to you— Overly nice— And a part of you wonders if the giant and handsome man clinging to your arm has anything to do with it. She sits down on the couch beside your father, hurries him to get the movie started.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen this movie. It always reminds you of summer, this weird feeling of habit and nostalgia. What once struck fear into your heart as a child now feels completely familiar and whimsical. You can’t help but smile, thinking about how similar the feeling is to—

“One of my prey once feared this creature.” Pennywise whispers, leaning in close enough you can feel its lips on your ears.

“What?”

“That.” It repeats, gesturing towards the giant animatronic shark on screen. “I became it to torment him.” 

A soft smile graces its face, as though fond and proud of the memory.

You can’t help but laugh. “And you fuckin’ tell me that  _my_ memories are weird.”

Pennywise sighs, and watches the movie silently for a while longer before a little-too-loudly admitting that it wants to go home and go to sleep.

“Shhh.” You whisper, filled with both first and secondhand embarrassment. “We gotta stay just a little bit longer. I haven’t even gotten to see—“

“I do not like this film. I want to go home. I want to watch _Cave.”_ It turns to you, almost pouting. “You will watch Cave with me?”

Your fingers clench and unfurl against the leather cushion of the couch. You don’t want to leave yet, but if Pennywise was a human-date you definitely wouldn’t force him to stay at your parents’ any longer than he was comfortable with. That would be fucking cruel.

“Okay... We can— we can go. You sure you don’t wanna go swim or anything?”

“Swim?” It asks, and you watch as its eyes light up.

Your father’s shorts are far too small for Pennywise, but it doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. It swims like a fucking merman, having a goddamn _blast_ as it disappears and reappears at each end of the pool.

Both of your parents steal glances from the kitchen blinds, probably afraid the two of you are going to try and fuck in the pool. Which is smart, considering that is exactly what you were originally planning on doing.

You let it swim around for as long as you can possibly bear, fingers and toes shriveling up into raisins. It does its own thing as it enjoys itself and the near ice-cold water, constantly coming up with new ways to entertain itself beneath and above the surface. 

It does a series of front flips under the water, like an enormous and playful child. Then it breaches again, gathers water in its mouth and lets it spill down its chin like the clown-form’s drool.

“That’s how you get a sweat bee sting on your tongue.” You warn, unable to hide the growing discomfort in your voice. 

When you were fifteen you went through all the hoops to get your lifeguard certification. After nearly failing every single test they finally passed you on through with the others, and you were able to get a job in a subdivision just outside of Derry. You worked one day, told everyone except your friends that the pool was closed, and were immediately fired.

Now, as you cling onto the edge of the pool in terror, you are suddenly reminded why you didn’t take that job as seriously as your parents wanted you to. 

“It’s f-f-fucking freezing in here.” You stammer, feeling your lips turning blue even under the midsummer sun. “And there’s all these weird shadows at the bottom of the pool... Not to be a party-pooper, Pen... But I think we should start drying off so we can head back home.”

Pennywise grins smugly, floating gracefully on its back like an otter through the pool. 

“You would like to leave?”

“I uh— I mean... Yeah. Kinda.”

“Tell me, Little One.” It begins, turning over onto its feet to stand at the shallow end. “Are you... _afraid_ of the water?”

“Fuck off.” You brush it off with a wave and a sneer.

It takes a step in closer, green irises flashing into two yellow stars. 

“Are you afraid of... _Sharks?”_

“No! Don’t you fucking d-dare.” 

It narrows its eyes, sinks itself low enough that the water comes up past its nose.

“I’m serious!” You shriek, half-thrilled and half-terrified as you back up towards the other end of the pool. “I swear to God don’t you even—“

The sliding door swings open. There’s the light, quick drumming of footsteps as someone rushes over towards the edge of the pool, and a wide smile graces your face once you realize who it must be.

“Walter!”

Pennywise rises back to its feet, shaking the water from itself like a freshly-bathed dog. It turns towards him, brow cocked at the strange little person it’s never seen before.

Your brother comes running up on tiny legs, his long sun-lightened hair bouncing up and down as he goes. He comes to stand at the very edge of the pool near your lover, still barely tall enough to see over his head. 

_Wait._

Your smile disappears. It’s only now that you make the connection; that Pennywise is an eater of children and your brother is still _very much_ a child. You feel a sharp pang of fear in your chest, a feeling of urgency and need to protect. You grip your mate by its wrist and hold it tight, as though grabbing a vicious pet by its leash. 

“Hi!” Walter shouts, using a hand to shield the sun from his eyes to peer at Pennywise. “I heard my sister had a new boyfriend over. I wanted to see you before you left. You’re really tall.”

“I am taller than many humans.” Pennywise answers, less gruffly than you were expecting.

“Do you wanna play with me?”

“ _Play..._ ” Pennywise repeats, quietly; as though practicing the word.

“Yeah, Walter, I uh... I don’t think that’s such a good—“

“Please.” Walter begs, pouting in the same way that you always do when someone tells you ‘no.’ “I don’t have any big brothers to play with. Do _you_ have brothers?”

“No.”

“So you know what it’s like. I—I have a soccer field. It’s indoors. It’s really fun to play in... I bet you’re really good at soccer.”

Pennywise doesn’t answer. Its expressions is unreadable, eyes studying your brother as if it’s never seen a child before in its life.

Walter smiles awkwardly, crooked and missing teeth poking out from behind his lips. He shifts from foot to foot, waiting for the tall man in front of him to finally disclose an answer.

“Here.” You begin, trying your best to climb your way over the edge of the pool. “Let’s me and you go back inside, and once I’m dressed we can—“

“We can swim.”

The sound of Pennywise’s Robert-Gray-voice catches you off guard, makes your whole body turn to stone in its place. You and your brother slowly turn your heads back towards the man in the pool, eyes widened with surprise to find him smiling pleasantly back at you.

“Do you like to swim, Walter?”

“Uh.” It takes him a second, before snapping back into his previously elated demeanor. “Yeah! I have to go get my trunks on though, and Momma likes to come out and watch me.” 

“Run then.” Pennywise nods towards the eyes peaking out through the blinds in the kitchen window. “And go get your mother.”

Walter’s face lights up, cheeks pinking with sudden excitement. He turns and bolts inside, door slamming behind him as he disappears.

“Pennywise.” You say its name quietly, firmly, almost like a warning.

It snaps its attention back over toward you, looking calm yet still completely pleasant.

“You don’t... You don’t have to—“

Pennywise scoffs. “Silly thing. I do not have to do _anything._ I am a God among mice. If I choose to do a thing, it is solely because I want to.” 

You open your mouth to retort, but your heart won’t let you do it. So instead you just smile, and whisper, “Thank you. I love you,” before scooting back to stand up on the deck.

The door flings open once more, and Walter comes bursting out in his pineapple-patterned swim trunks. 

Your mother follows suit, two Mike’s Hard Lemonades clutched tightly in her hands. She offers one to you by bumping the cool, wet glass into the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Me? Oh, I can’t. I’ve gotta drive here in a minute.”

“Make Robert.”

“He doesn’t... Really like to drive.”

She shrugs. “More for me then.”

She turns and watches with you as Walter cannonballs into the pool. Water splashes onto Pennywise’s face and it smiles goofily, splashing your brother back as soon as his tiny head breaches the water.

They play like small children; dysfunctional and hyper and lacking a strong sense of restraint. You know that it loves you, that it wouldn’t hurt something you care about the way you care about Walter; but your asshole still clenches each time Pennywise is just a little too rough with him.

You can tell that this is still very foreign to it. It isn’t yet used to being so gentle toward something it was born to tear apart with its fangs. Even so, Walter sure doesn’t seem to notice. He squeals with delight when Pennywise tosses him into the air and down into the water just a few feet away. He teaches it simple games, climbs onto its back and holds onto its foot as it pulls him through the water.

This is something you never could have imagined in those days when you were trying to win its affection. Hell— you couldn’t have imagined something like this happening even this fucking _morning._ It’s beautiful, and sweet, and in all honesty— a total fucking panty-dropper. 

What the fuck is it about seeing a gorgeous killing-machine being so good with a little kid? Is it some primal instinct? Alerting you that your mate is both wildly strong and also good with tiny offspring? Either way, you’re pretty sure you—

“You _are_ on birth-control, _correct?”_

“What?” You whip around to face your mother, eyes narrowed into slits.

“I’m just asking.” She winces, putting a hand out in front of herself. “He’s very handsome, and I know you aren’t always the best at planning ahea—“

 _“Jesus,_ Mom. That’s f— That’s really gross.”

You turn back towards the jovial pair in the pool, but there’s something cold in your chest. It feels like a pebble, tiny and hard somewhere behind your ribcage. You smile at Pennywise when it winks playfully at you, and you wait for it to go away.

Soon the light outside becomes deep and golden, and right as the sun threatens to dip below the horizon your mom tells Walter it’s time to take a bath. He protests, of course, but finally gives in and drags his feet across the deck towards the door.

At last the four of you head back inside to change, but a tiny hand stops you in your tracks by tugging on the back strap of your bikini. You spin around in the doorway to find your brother staring up at you.

“I like playing with him.” Walter smiles, and then his brows furrow as his face grows serious. “You gotta marry him.”

Pennywise flashes you a look, smiling with its eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Thanks for letting us come over. Dinner was great.”

“Awe, thanks for visiting!” Your mom chirps, holding the door open for the pair of you. “You guys are welcome over any time!”

“Come home more.” Walter begs, arms wrapped around your waist in a tight little hug. “Even if Robert can’t come with you. It gets lonely here— I miss you all the time.”

“I miss you too, little man.”

“It was really nice meeting you, Robert.” Your dad calls, too lazy to stand up and see you guys off.

“It was nice to meet you too.” Pennywise smiles pleasantly before gesturing to your father over on the couch behind you. “I am grateful the two of you mated to create your daughter.”  

Your dad chokes on his fucking chips. It takes your brain a second to process what you’ve heard, too busy digging for your keys in your purse.

Pennywise, oblivious to what it’s just said, nods its head slowly.

“We mate as well.” It says calmly. “Not always in the way that humans must do to conceive, but—“

”My _God_ it has gotten late!”

“But is it not tr—“

“So late! We’d better uh... Better get back home before the— before the thing. See ya guys! Love you!”

You shoot your mother one final wave before slamming the door behind you. You’re pretty sure her face didn’t move for ten whole seconds.

“I did something wrong.” Pennywise says quietly, once you’ve both gotten back to your car.

“No, no. That was my fault. I should’ve uh... Should’ve given you the talk.”

“The talk?”

“Bad joke. I just meant... Never mind.” You shake your head, unable to keep from laughing at the sound your dad made when he inhaled those cheez-its down his throat. “Just uh... Just put your seatbelt on.”

You pull up the driveway and stop at the automatic gate. It’s remote-control activated only, and your mother always forgets to press the fucking button for you to be able to leave. The two of you wait there for what feels like half an hour, relentlessly texting the family group message that they need to let you go.

It’s to no avail. You sit there in silence, waiting, until boredom and curiosity claw their ways into your mind.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Hm?” It murmurs, the side of its forehead resting against its window.

“Did you... Did you want to eat him? Walter?”

Pennywise doesn’t answer for a few seconds before calmly stating, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because I did not _want to.”_ Pennywise snarls, human lips pulled back as threateningly as it can possibly look in this form. 

“Oh come on. He’s at that age—“

“No.” It insists, even more firmly this time.

You let out a sigh, turning your knees toward it to look it in the eyes. “Then _why not?”_ You ask, ready to give up the question entirely.

“Because... That child— he...“ It pauses, then turns its head to look back at you. “Because he reminds me too much of _you.”_

For some reasons, those words hit you right away. You don’t know exactly what they mean to it, or even what to do with them; but they echo in your head while it stares at you. You can see your Pennywise there, beneath that pink and perfect skin, as clear as you ever have before.

“Are you sure you—“

And then it kisses you, right there in your car; waiting for the automated gate to open. It buries those long fingers into your chlorine-stiffened hair, presses your mouth so firmly against its own you can hardly even breathe. You drag your tongue against the bottoms of its teeth, startlingly straight; and it moans into your mouth in a way you’ve never heard from this form before. Warm, wet. It tastes like blood, but you don’t even fucking care. You’re sure your parents are watching, waiting at the front door; but you make out with it until your mother texts you and tells you she’s about to shut the gate if you don’t hurry your ass up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this fin isn’t just gonna be another 3-4 chapters of reader forcing Pennywise to do boyfriend-shit with her lmao. I just really, really wanna establish their relationship before moving ahead towards the end. :)


	13. Sewer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You asked it to show you its home.

A rat skitters by on one of the concrete ledges above, squeaking with yellow eyes that seem to actually glow in the darkness of the sewer. Without meaning to you let out a sharp yelp, causing Pennywise to snarl ferociously at the rodent in question.

“Jesus Chr— down, boy!”

Arm raised out like a bar across your lover’s waist, you try and urge it back from pouncing or leaping forward. The being stills in its tracks. You let out a breathless laugh, admittedly more startled by Pennywise than you ever were by the rat.

The clown’s knees are bent slightly, like a lunging animal that’s been frozen suddenly into place. Its arms are dropped down by its sides, wire-straight; chest puffed out in front of it in a display of aggression and prowess.

“Vermin.” It hisses, and its voice hasn’t sounded this dark since that day it backed you up against your living-room wall. “Useless.”

Your hand travels down to the frills at the end of its sleeves, gripping the fabric gently between your fingers.

At last your mate softens enough to break its pose, though you know for certain it’s still anything but calm. Nerves on edge, muscles rigid with potential strength and dark energy. It’s been like this ever since the moment it finally agreed to bring you down here. Aggression, instinct, more drool than you’ve ever seen in your life; it’s almost as if the primal part of its mind, its true and incomprehensible form, have taken over entirely. No Pennywise the Dancing Clown. Only the alien. Only the spider.

There must be something about this place that triggers its predatory urges. You’ve seen stuff on television about certain familiar environments being able to trigger past behaviors and actions in people— but truth be told you’re not really sure if that’s all that it is. You’ve never been one to completely succumb to all that hippy-dippy, bad energy, spiritual bullshit; but there’s no denying the fact that something down here is just fucking off. It’s just like that time you and Ricky visited that old-ass tuberculosis hospital, the way the air around you felt so goddamn weird and heavy and ice-cold against your skin.

You know now that it was a mistake coming down here. The only good part about any of this was getting to cup your hands around your mouth and shout, “We the best music!” like DJ Khaled in the most reverberant part of its lair.

It’s a bad place, and this was a really bad idea for a date, but hey— it’s not like it’s your fault the prospect of humping a murderous clown in the dead-center of Derry’s sewer seemed so fucking alluring earlier when you were bored.

A smirk creeps over your face at the thought. Pennywise doesn’t notice it, walking steadily through the near knee-high sludge of the sewer; but still you try to hide it by wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

How filthy and depraved it would have been to do it in the place Pennywise brings its victims, its eyes glowing like a devil’s in the darkness. You could have gotten on your hands and knees for it, skin scraping bloody against some wet slab of concrete. Maybe you’d have even done butt-stuff— you didn’t know. The sexually-charged possibilities were practically endless. Well, they were— at least before you set foot down here yourself.

Your preconceived ideas and mental images of what a sewer-system looked like were completely and utterly wrong. Its lair wasn’t dry and spacious like you’d expected. Instead it was littered with tiny bones, dirt, rats, cockroaches, and a trash-heap so high it put every episode you’d ever seen of Hoarders to goddamn shame. There were no open areas, or places to kneel down without worrying about the last time you’d gotten a tetanus shot. Granted there was this weird old stage at the back of all of it, hidden in the furthest corner of its den; but even from up there you still couldn’t justify it. Fucking in this place was sure to earn you one of the worst urinary tract infections of your life.

Again, it was just so goddamn bad. Horrible. A grade-A absolute fucking shithole. And to make matters even worse? Even the nastiest corner of its lair was nothing compared to the fecal-filled tunnels that lead in and out of it.

“You know... When I pictured what it was gonna be like down here, I kind of thought it was just gonna be really dark and spooky with a little bit of bleh-smelling water...”

“And?” It asks, and the muscles in its jaw visibly tighten.

“But I was wrong. This place is a fucking hell-pit. It reeks.”

“I do not care.” It bites back without missing a single beat. “Your insults are not amusing to me.”

A smile tugs at the edge of your lips. You tilt your chin slightly to glance over at it, still treading carefully so as not to step on any protruding rocks or sticks in the water.

It’s usually so accommodating and patient with you these days; so kind and loving and gentle. You never have times like this anymore— moments where you get to say things simply for the thrill of knowing you’re getting on its nerves. Bored, and restless, you decide to take the sewage-covered ball and just run with it for a few more moments.

”Yeah... It’s no wonder you set up shop in my house after I met you. Anything had to be an improvement over this place.”

Pennywise’s shoulders become stiff. Its footsteps become less frequent, slowing enough so that its pace perfectly matches your own.

“I love you,” it begins, eyes flashing red like the warning rattle of a snake, “but tread lightly.”

“You probably don’t even actually have to kill your own prey yourself. The smell down here is probably enough to do the job for you.”

“Enough.” 

“Did you even see that rat running its ass off back there? Poor thing was probably trying to sprint its way out of here.”

“ _Enough_.” 

“A sewer, Pennywise? You couldn’t find anywhere better to stay all these years? Might as well have just lived inside Satan’s assho—”

“Enough!” It snaps, though its voice hardly even rises. “I told you I did not want to bring you down here. This is a place of death—“

“Oh jeez; I wonder why.”

“— and filth... and vermin... and disease. A thing like you has no place down here.”

“Because I’m so pure and light and wonderful?”

“Because you are _fragile.”_ It corrects, peering down its cherry-painted nose at you. “This place will make you sick.”

“Now wait just a minute.” You stop in your tracks, folding your arms in an overly-dramatic display of offense. “I don’t know about you, Ronald McDonald— But I’ll have you know that I never get sick. I haven’t been sick since college. Take a look through my memories if you don’t believe me; got an immune system made out steel, ba-by.” You emphasize your words by pointing two finger-guns at it, an action you immediately regret.

Pennywise rolls its eyes. A puff of air expels from its nostrils, flaring up in exasperation.

You search its face for any signs at all of enjoyment; and in your distraction you fail to see the enormous branch sticking out of the water in front of you. The toe of your rain-boot hooks just below the bottom of it, sending your whole body nearly toppling completely forward.

“Oh sh— wait. No, wait, no, I’m good.”

You sigh with relief as you you find your balance, wide circling arms coming to a halt out beside you. Then, of course, it happens. Before you can even laugh it off, or turn to your lover to stick your tongue out, you end up fucking falling anyway. Face first you go, splattering like a goddamn snow angel in the deepest part of the water. You know instinctively not to scream, not to suck in a mouthful of shit and piss; but it coats every single inch of your body like a diarrhea-caked cast.

Almost instantly Pennywise grabs hold of the back of your shirt, jerks you upright so hard you’re surprised the garment doesn’t rip in half altogether. There’s panic in its face— though at first you mistake it for anger. Its eyes are red and wide, scleras as dark as the ends of the tunnels. Its nostrils flare wildly, sniffing you for any traces of blood from the impact.

“Are you hurt, Little One?”

“Of course I’m f— It’s in my fucking mouth!” You howl, every one of your senses assaulted with the most disgusting mixture of fluids imaginable. “I have— I have actual fucking shit— dripping down into my fucking mouth!”

Its expression dulls once it realizes you haven’t been physically harmed. It shakes its enormous head in disapproval, but you catch the familiar glow of amusement in its eyes.

“Come on, Little Thing.” It croons, thumbs sliding in tiny soothing movements over the blades of your shoulders. “You will live.”

You’re still whining, still shouting obscenities when it drags you by the pits of your arms out of the tunnels.

Once you’re back home you scrub every inch of your body until you’re afraid your skin might scab over if you do it any longer. It hurts, and it’s exhausting; but soon the stench of waste and death are replaced with the sweet fragrance of your body wash. Pennywise watches, waits patiently as you continue to shower long after the hot water runs out.

You didn’t ask it to help you, but when you step out onto the tile you can see now that everything filthy has been made clean again. You know that all it took was the flexing of its mind to rid your bathroom of all the sewage, but that doesn’t matter to you. The gesture itself far surpasses the physical effort it would have taken.

“Hey.”

Pennywise, who’d just been staring blankly at the shower-curtain behind you, suddenly snaps it eyes back over to you. Unable to meet its gaze, you wrap a towel around your chest and stare down at your feet in contrite.

“I’m uh... I’m sorry that I yelled at you... After I fell.”

“You were ashamed.” It murmurs, voice sounding far softer and sweeter than it had in the tunnels. “Understandably so.”

“Yeah... Not exactly my proudest moment.”

Pennywise’s lips curl, bottom lip drooping into that playful grin it so often wears. It reaches its arms out to you, pulls you into itself like a worried mother clutching her child.

“I am in love with a very silly little creature.” It purrs, resting its pointed chin at the top of your head. Your arms snake around it, fingers clutching against the spine-like embroidery sewed into the back of its suit. “Silly...” It begins, then turns its face to nuzzle its cheek against your hair, “But perfect.” 

You jerk away from its grip.

“What did you— What— What’d you just say?”

“Perfect. The most perfect thing any human has ever created.”

Warmth floods your cheeks like a harsh slap, surely as red now as the tip of Pennywise’s nose. Eyes wide and brows narrowed; you rack your brain for some polite way to refuse the compliment. It’s sudden, and wrong, and you know you don’t deserve it; but when you open your mouth you find it empty. 

If Pennywise senses your apprehension, it sure doesn’t let on. It’s still smiling; so pleasant it doesn’t even look fucking scary anymore, and when it speaks again its voice is high and unwavering. 

“Wonderful, beautiful. You are the only thing I have ever loved, and I have been alive far longer than you could ever imagine. I love you, Little One. I love you, and you are perfect.” 

Perfect.

Pennywise can see into your mind. It can thumb through your memories like a photo album whenever it pleases. It can watch every single mistake you’ve ever made. It can see every terrible thing you’ve ever done in crystal-clear detail, and still it thinks that you are unmarred and unbent. Without fault. Without error. There’ve been people in your life who’ve left over the smallest of things, the slightest of negative revelations; but this thing knows all and has stayed. This creature— one who was born and bred to despise you, to see you as nothing more than a warm meal— and it sees you as fucking perfect.

“Why are you crying?” It tilts its head to the side like a curious dog, reaching in to wipe underneath your eye with its gloved-thumb.

“I’m not crying.” You insist, even though you are. Your lip trembles, so you catch it between your teeth. “It’s just... I never thought any of this would ever happen. I never thought you would— or even could— ever want me the way I wanted you... I love you, Pennywise. I love you so fucking much.”

“And I love you as well, Little One.”

“Even more than eating people?”

“Even more than Cave.”

It looks down at you with stars in its eyes, so open and light. There’s a long pause, the steam-filled room growing completely silent and still. Then it’s you who kisses it, without warning, crashing your own warm lips against a pair that are as rough and as cold as stone. It freezes in surprise before quickly giving in, tension in its broad shoulders vanishing like smoke in the air.

You break the kiss to stare up at it, a tiny string of drool keeping the both of you connected. Chest heaving, already weak in the legs, you stretch your arm up to cup at the edge of its jaw.

“I want you to fu—”

“I know.”

Pennywise grins, eyes flashing smugly under the dim lights overhead. It bends forward to seal the kiss once more, and you can still feel it smiling slightly against you. Inelegantly, inexpertly; it parts your lips with its tongue, blood-hot as it fills up your mouth. You’ve long given up on teaching it about the importance of teasing and building. You’ve decided you’re lucky enough that it even enjoys kissing, so if it wants to French you like a starving animal then so be it. At least it’s trying.

Deep in the web of your own thoughts and sensation of its tongue swirling against your own, you hardly even notice that it’s led you back into your room. Its body guides your own, urges you backward until the edge of the bed presses firmly against the bends of your knees.

Its hands move down to your hips, now trailing open-mouthed kisses down along the side of your throat. The realization that you’ll soon need another shower once this is over prods at the back of your mind, but you quickly push it away. Besides, you love it when it drools for you.

Pennywise purrs, a soft rumble igniting somewhere deep behind its collarbones. Its unfathomably long tongue lavishes the length of your chest, curling under your breasts to taste every single inch of you. One shift of your hips and you feel it— already hard against you, cock straining against the inside of its suit.

“Fuck me.” You whisper again, heartfelt.

“Are you ready for me?” It asks, pulling your towel away from your body and letting it drop somewhere on the floor.

“Yes. Wait. No, I— I mean fuck me. Fuck me in your— in your real form.”

Pennywise lets out a tiny snort of laughter, shaking its head softly. Its eyes are warm as they peer down at you, filled with amusement and love.

“Your brain could not even comprehend my true form. How am I meant to take you in it?”

“I dunno.” You shrug, your naked and damp skin suddenly prickling under the ceiling-fan. “Fuck me in your spider-form then— the one that people can see.”

“Silly human. I would be far too big for a little thing like you.”

“Then make yourself smaller. A little spider. My size.”

For a moment the clown almost looks like it’s considering it. Then, before you can even blink, its expression quickly changes. It jerks its face away. Something smolders in its eyes, acid-yellow and dark. A frown gnarls its lips, dripping down at the corners with what you’re suddenly sure is disgust— or maybe regret.

It takes you a second, staring up at it in complete and stunned silence before it hits you. It fucking hits you like a fist to the back of the skull, a realization so obvious you aren’t even sure if you know how to describe it.

What has escaped you since the beginning of your friendship, the shrouded mystery of why it only shows itself to you in this form instead of the one it was born into, is now suddenly right there in front of you. That day you carved its face into a pumpkin— you’d mistaken its somber look for shame; suspecting that maybe it was rueful of the garish features that make up its most frequently worn identity. Instead you know now that it was sadness you’d seen in its eyes, but not because it resented the sight of the clown. It was sad, because it was reminded this form is not truly its own.

It wants to be the clown. It wants to be a thing like you.

“I— I uh...” You grasp for the words, throat feeling tight and dry under its gaze. “N-never mind, Pennywise. We can... We can do it in whatever form you want. Sex, I mean.”

You offer it a smile, awkward but genuine all the same. You wait for it to return the gesture and at long last it does, bright light glistening in its eyes once again.

“Tell me you want this.” It insists, the apples of its cheeks dropping as its expression grows more ardent and composed. “Tell me you want to be with me... No matter how much of a monster I may be.“

“Hey.” You cut it off sharply, furiously shaking your head. “You‘re not a monster. You’re just—”

“Evil.” It interrupts matter-of-factly, as if the word means nothing at all to it.

“Pennyw— You’re not— No. You’re not fucking evil, okay? I mean... Eating children... That’s not exactly... Well, it’s not _good._ But you’re not... Evil... Just— Just let me ask you something: why do you eat little kids?”

“Their meat is sweeter, softer; more delicious.”

“What? No, that’s not—“ You pause to throw a hand up to the bridge of your nose, squeezing tightly and taking a deep breath before continuing. “That’s not what I‘m asking. What I mean is; what would happen if you just stopped eating kids? Or, you know, human beings in general?”

“I would die.” It answers grimly.

“Exactly. You eat people because it’s what you have to do to stay alive. You’re not evil.” You offer it a smile, soft and serene as you pull it closer toward you. “You’re just Pennywise.”

It lets out a low, guttural sound of approval. It leans into your touch, closes its eyes as it so rarely ever does.

“Tell me you want me.”

“Of course I fucking want you. I want you— all of you— but especially that giant ass clown-dick you’ve got between your legs.”

Pennywise pulls its lips back in distaste, eyes narrowed into slits. Still you can see the affection glowing deep behind its pupils, like a tiny candle flickering in the dark. 

You let out a bubble of laughter, one that crinkles your nose and makes your belly feel warm and tight. Excitement flutters from your toes all the way up to your chest, just as it does each time you know it’s right about to happen. This is because with Pennywise— it’s never just fucking. It’s always so much more, two beings of different worlds binding together in ways they were never meant to. It puts its entire essence into you, its pretty lights; fills you up with everything that it has. 

The clown hooks its knee beneath your thigh, presses you to lie on your back while it bends over you. One foot still planted firmly on the ground, it’s half-standing and half crouched between your legs. There’s no preparation. It doesn’t open you with its fingers or tongue— doesn’t even have to. You’re already wet, even despite how much you’d scrubbed yourself in the shower. Its inhuman cock, now pulled free from the confines of its suit, slides home into the soft folds of your cunt; so deep it almost hurts.

Without hesitation, no pausing to allow you to adjust; it immediately sets a steady and forceful pace. It pushes you even further back onto the bed, climbing up onto the mattress without letting itself slip out. A part of you is sure it’s because you felt its leg beginning to shake.

Pennywise doesn’t blanket your body with its own. Instead it stays back upright on its knees as it thrusts. Its eyes travel down your neck, past your breasts and navel, lingering at the place where your bodies are joined. Want smolders in its eyes as it watches itself move in and out of you, brows high and furrowed together so tightly it almost looks like it might let out a sob of pain instead of euphoria. This is all still so very new to it— every spark of pleasure between its legs. Each time it fucks you is a brand new adventure for it, exploring a side of itself it kept buried for millions of years.

“Does it— oh fuck — Does it feel good?”

Head bowed, moving more desperately into you than it ever has before, you’re certain it’s too concentrated on reaching its own climax to bother answering you. Its fingers make their way around your throat, forearm rested gently against the side of your breast. There’s no pressure or force in its grip, almost as if it’s simply a way to hold you in place as it fucks you.

Every frantic thrust makes the frills around its neck bounce, bed squeaking and pounding loud enough against your wall to earn a visit from Old Mrs. Baker tomorrow. Your fingers dance over the soft, delicate stretch of flesh between your hipbones. You swear you can feel it moving even from the outside. Pumping, thrumming against your flesh like a stick against a drum.

It’s close; has been since the moment it even started. Enormous, powerful, frightening; it’s beautiful. You can practically smell the desperation on its skin, chasing its own release this time without first focusing on yours.

“Come on my face.”

Pennywise’s eyes go wide, carved-in brow furrowing in suspicion. It doesn’t understand what you’re asking of it. It’s irises glow yellow, rimmed with bright red around the edges.

“When you— _Ah_ — When you finish,” You amend, trying to keep your eyes from rolling back in your head, “Do it on my face. All over my— all over my face.”

It doesn’t say anything. You‘re sure you couldn’t read its face even if your vision wasn’t blurring, eyes stinging with choke-backed sobs from how fast and deep it’s moving between your legs. You expect it to shake its head in disgust, to brush off your words like the sting of a gnat, when without any warning it rips itself out of you.

“Your face.” Pennywise hisses, now standing by the edge of the bed.

It jerks itself furiously in its own gloved hand until you follow suit— kneeling right down in front of it. Your name spills from its lips, the sound low and grating and caught somewhere deep in its throat. You take one last glance up before closing your eyes, stomach tightening at the way it tosses its head back. It lets out a noise, some odd snarl or hiss; and then it‘s over, thick viscous ropes that seem to come in waves as they land hot on your cheeks and forehead.

It’s panting, breaths coming hard and fast high above you. You resist the primal urge to wipe it all off with your fingers and taste it, suddenly remembering the unbearable flavor it possesses. Instead, almost on cue, Pennywise drags its gloved-hand and wrist over your face, smearing its come in a failed effort to wipe it off. It repeats the gesture again and again, cleaning you off in the most unintentionally graceless manner possible.

When at last you’re sure you won’t go blind, you slowly open one of your eyes to peer up at it. It reaches a hand out towards you, urging you to take it so that it can help you back up onto your feet.

“Humans and their mating habits.” It shakes its head in judgement, though you can see the warmth of affection in its eyes.

“You loved it.”

“I did not hate it.” It admits, before immediately gesturing behind you. “Now get back onto the bed, Little One. You still have yet to finish.”

You let out a tiny burst of laughter before collapsing back onto the mattress. This all feels so unreal; so perfect and beautiful and light. It’s like the most perfect dream you’ve ever had— one that you never ever want to wake up from. You just want to stay here in this room, forever; with the thing you love most in this world. 

Happy. So unbelievably happy. 


	14. Conceive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You ask Pennywise some important questions.

Pennywise lies stretched out on its back beside you, long legs tangled up with your own. The room is nearly black, pale blue moonlight seeping in through the opened curtains, but you can still make out most of its shape. At first glance you think it’s smoking a cigarette— like those couples in movies after they’re finished having sex— only to quickly realize it’s just chewing on one of its talons.

“Hey.”

The clown flicks its eyes over toward you, as if too spent to bother moving its head.

“I’ve got a question.”

“My mate always has her questions.” It murmurs, now inspecting whatever it’s managed to pick from its teeth.

You clear your unusually hoarse and scratchy throat, rolling around onto your side before asking, “Whatever happened to that group of little kids? You know— the ones that kicked your ass all those years ago?”

Pennywise scoffs, a loud sharp sound that almost makes you flinch; but its face remains calm and amused.

“They did not defeat me.” It disputes casually, back to chewing on its claw. “As you can see, I am still very much alive.”

A second question dances at the end of your tongue, yet for some reason you find yourself suddenly afraid of the answer. Pennywise has always been an eater-of-humans, has likely killed handfuls of children since the two of you started hanging out together; so you have no fucking idea why it’s so hard for you to ask— but even still you ask it anyway.

“Did you kill them?”

It must be able to smell the unease in your chest, because suddenly its entire body goes rigid.

“I did not kill them.” It answers, voice steady with sincerity— and maybe bitterness. “I gave them all _very happy lives..._ In places far away from here.”

“So they’ll never come back and try to do it again?”

Your question takes it by surprise. It furrows its brows, eyes narrow and suddenly blue as any eyes you’ve ever seen. It reaches out to take your hand into its own, holds it there for a few moments before answering.

“No, Little One.” It shakes its head. “They will never, ever, come back here.”

You give it a soft smile, fingers squeezing its gloves before letting them go. It rolls back onto its stomach and closes its eyes. 

You think about doing the same, but decide against it. You don’t have to work tomorrow, and you still aren’t done asking it questions.

“Do you think I’d make a good mother?”

Pennywise’s entire body jerks, eyelids bursting open in surprise. It raises up suddenly, like a dog with its ears pricked. Slowly, cautiously; it turns its head back towards you, tilts its neck over to the side.

“Why would you ask me such a thing?”

“What if we had a baby?” You meet its question with another one of your own, unblinking as you hold its gaze. “Do you think it would be like... Like a human? I mean... If you got me pregnant... While in that almost-human body... using almost-human sperm... That means the baby would be pretty human too, right?”

Your mate doesn’t say anything. Its expression fades from curious to unreadable, mouth parted yet empty. After what feels like an eternity of uncertain silence, you decide to press on anyway.

“Who do you think it would be more like?”

“What?” It hisses, eyes turning to two yellow slits in their sockets.

“The baby, I mean. Do you think it’d be like you? Some crazy, powerful, unstoppable killing machine? Or do you think it would be a little more like me? You know... dazzlingly charming and adorable as all hell?”

You give it a smile, but your question is met with silence. It looks frozen, stunned; as if it’s never given the subject a single thought. You drop your hands into your lap and start playing with the hem of your oversized shirt.

“I mean, we don’t use condoms... And you haven’t exactly been pulling out... So I’m just— I’m asking, you know? What _if?”_

Pennywise’s face softens.

“We are not of the same species, child.”

“Not in your original form, no... But when we have sex...” You trail off, before sitting up onto your knees so you can better meet its eyes. “I mean, hey— The Dancing Clown may not be completely human, but the mechanics are pretty fuckin’ close. It makes sense, and I— You know I really do think it could work.”

“This is something you fantasize about?” It isn’t suspicion in its voice. It’s amusement.

A strange sense of embarrassment floods your face, turning your cheeks bright red. You drop your gaze down to your twiddling fingers, brows furrowed tightly together.

“Not really.” That’s a lie. You’ve been thinking about it ever since your mother brought up birth-control the other day. “I don’t just like sit around and think about it, no, but it’s something I think we should talk about. I know you don’t exactly get how relationships work, but for human-standards you and I have gotten really serious lately. Getting pregnant— deciding what we should do if I accidentally _do_ get pregnant— I just... I don’t know. I had to ask.”

More silence. It draws its eyes over you, studying you; as if it’s never looked at you before. The apples of its cheeks rise, more childlike and plump. It offers you a soft smile, one that’s completely betrayed by the dullness in its eyes.

“Do you truly think it wise for there to ever be more like me?” It asks, and you don’t know how to answer.

Suddenly you recognize that look on its face. It’s the same one it wore when you showed it your pumpkin.

“But what if—“

“We could never conceive together. It would not work...But for what it is worth to you,” it begins, before reaching out to run its gloved knuckles down the edge of your jaw, “I think you would make a wonderful mother.”

You raise your hands to hold its own against you, smiling to hide the initial slap of disappointment. It doesn’t hurt. It just isn’t what you had expected to hear. 

You’d never given any thought to having children before Pennywise. You could have never pictured yourself having the patience or ability to raise a tiny, bald, screaming thing into a happy and healthy adult. There’s never been any baby-fever, any fear of your biological clock running out. It’s only been now, after falling more in love than you ever know possible, that you began to wonder what it would be like to have a family of your own.

The fact that you can never have that with Pennywise is a tough pill to swallow— but maybe that’s what makes what the two of you have together that much more meaningful. You are two puzzle pieces that were not made to fit together, two cogs that cannot turn; but even so you still thrive together anyway.

It no longer sees itself as a monster. It no longer walks this world alone, no longer detests all that is human or kills solely for pleasure. It is kinder, softer, happier than it has ever been in all the years of its existence. You don’t drink like you used to, or do even a half of the reckless things you once did just to feel something other than emptiness and boredom. You don’t have to hang around with people you hate just to avoid feeling alone. You don’t hate getting up for work, or doing anything at all— because you know your mate is always watching, always waiting for you to come home.

It’s not that you can’t survive without each other; it’s just that you’re that much better together.

You lie there beside it for a long while in the dark, but when at last you fall asleep you don’t feel regret, or anger, or sadness. You only feel peace, because now you know. You would live a thousand lifetimes with Pennywise even if it meant that you could never once bear a child.


	15. Nightmare

“Pennywise?”

There are people downstairs. You can’t see them, can’t even hear them, but you’re absolutely sure that you can sense them— their dark intentions, their hearts thudding loudly in their chests. It’s like when you were a kid; the way someone once explained to you the way that a snake is able to seek out its prey. A handful of muscles behind ribcages, bursts of red light that seem to pound inside of your skull when you take a step closer towards the balcony. Closer; close enough now that that you can finally catch a glimpse of them.

Jesus. There are five of them. Seven. Six. Eight. The number keeps changing, keeps shifting around in your mind like a fuzzy memory. They don’t seem to notice you yet, not even when you begin your descent down the creaky stairs towards the foyer. 

“Who are you?”

They don’t look at you. It’s like they’re too busy; hushed whispers that sound like static in your ears. Heads tilted down; gossiping, plotting, lying in wait. Their faces are blurred, shaded over by unnatural colors and bursts of light. You can feel their energy, vengeful; and at once you know who they are.

“You guys— You’re all— You’re all those kids.” It’s meant to be a question, but as soon as it spills from your lips you that it’s the truth. “I mean... You’re not kids anymore but you’re... You’re the same people.”

They all nod in unison, their gazes suddenly flashing over towards you like candlewicks in the dark. They’re older than you, nearly twice your age; faded lines by their mouths and eyes that seem to come and go in the light.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, and by now you’ve almost reached the bottom of the staircase.

Only one of them steps forward.

“What do you think?”

Unease prickles your skin. None of this is right— none of it even feels real. Everything is so dark and violet, beams from the moon casting unnerving shadows over every inch of your home.

“Am I on something?” You take the final step down towards the floor and study your palms. “Did I do acid?”

One of them murmurs something you can’t quite understand. You drop your hands and jerk your head up towards the group of strangers, only to find them staring down beneath your line of vision. They want you to see something; one of them points down to the space below your breasts. You follow their eyes down, and at once you register the sudden sight of your huge and swollen belly.

“Jesus Chr— What— What the fuck?”

Your womb is alive with movement; a writhing and coiling within you that should probably fill you with panic— but somehow it doesn’t. It almost feels normal, like something you’d somehow simply forgotten about. 

How could you have forgotten about something like this?

“How far along are you?” One of the faceless strangers asks, voice high and familiar and feminine.

When you open your mouth someone else’s words spill out from your throat; answering, “Twenty-seven years,” without being able to think about it. Your fingers go to your lips, touching them in awe over what just happened.

The dark air from before has changed, almost a radiant glow now as it reflects off of the hardwood below. You can’t stop running your hands over your belly, feeling the way the fabric of your shirt stretches tight over your skin.

“How sweet.” The woman-like shape answers, arms locked together out in front of her body.

She cocks her head to the side, and all at once everything changes.

There’s a bright flash of white, striking your eyes like a stuttering bolt of lightning. One of the strangers lunges towards you, featureless face twisted up scarlet with anger. At first you think it’s only an empty fist, raised high above their head; but it takes only a half-second to realize just how fucking wrong you are. It’s a butcher-knife, clutched tightly in their hand; and it buries its way to the handle right above your navel.

You wait for the pain. You wait for the sheer, unmatchable agony to make its way to your brain and set your nerve-endings on fire. You clench your eyes shut and bare your teeth, ready for the blood to start pouring. Waiting. Waiting. Hands pressed against the wound, it never happens. It’s nothing. There’s nothing.

You open your eyes, find them clutching flat against your flat, unstained belly. There’s no knife. There’s no stirring inside of you. There’s just nothing. Breathless, you start to fucking laugh.

The strangers start to join you. Sunlight bursts through the room; drunken joy and flowers and fresh air. They lock their arms together, faces still muddled and featureless; yet elated and pinked with adoration all the same.

“We killed her! We killed her! We killed her!” They all chant together, voices high and fast like the voices of children.

All you can do is keep laughing, giggling; confused and relieved. You shake your head at them and wipe a trailing tear from your eye.

“Jokes on you bitches.” You taunt, taking a step back towards the staircase. “I’m still very much alive.”

“No, Stupid! Not you! _Her!”_

The strangers, who’d just been crowding around you, now part and step aside. There’s a gap now, giving you a view to something enormous lying flat on the floor.

“What is that?”

You cock your head to the side as you walk past them, trying and failing to make out the shape of who it is.

“She’s dead!” They chant, and there’s a sense of both exaltation and relief in their voices. Heads tilted back; elbows stretched out towards the ceiling, towards the sky. “We killed her, and now she’s finally dead!”

Suddenly it all becomes clear before your eyes, like a mist has been lifted from the room. You can see who it is— what it is— and that it’s Pennywise. You can see the bloom of red that paints the front of its suit, see the wooden handle of the blade sticking out from the space between its ribcage. It hits you like a blow to the chest, knocking you onto your knees as you kneel down beside it. Desperate, frantic, you take its lifeless face in your hands and try your best to form words.

“What have you guys _done?!”_ You shriek, nails digging into your lover’s ice-cold cheeks.

“What we should have done as children! She’s dead! She was an eater of children, the boogeyman of Derry; but at long last she’s dead! She’s dead! She’s dead! _She’s dead!”_

It hurts, and hurts, and hurts. You can feel your jaw stretching open, air closing up somewhere in your throat. You can’t breathe. Oh God, you can’t fucking breathe.

One of the faceless strangers kneels down to grab you by the shoulders, shaking you in a way that seems to move in slow-motion. It’s a man, you think, words deep and gravelly in your ears.

“Child!” He screams, voice booming in your face.

“Get off me! You murderer! Get the fuck off of me!”

“Child! Child! Child!”

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

_“Child!”_

The being shakes you again, and this time everything shatters around you. It feels like you’re falling, slamming back to reality in just a matter of a second and landing back in the darkness of your bedroom. The stranger is gone, and you see now that the person gripping you isn’t a person at all.

“Penn— Pennywise?”

Your lover’s eyes are gold and wide with concern. You grab it by the ruffles around its collar and pull it in close, burying your face in its suit. It smells like dead things, rotten pieces of flesh and copper from the scent of its preys’ blood. You breathe in its scent like a perfume, and loudly begin to sob.

“It was them.” You insist, words muffled by its suit. “Those kids that tried to kill you— they fucking came back. It— It was _them.”_

“It was a dream. A nightmare.”

“No.” You pull away and shake your head frantically. “No, you’re— You’re spending all this time with your guard down around me, and I just—

A clawed hand flies out to your cheek, and then to your forehead. Its hairless brow furrows, lips pulled down into a frown.

“Your skin is burning... You are not well, Little Thing... You are not thinking clearly.”

“You don’t know how fucking real it was!”

Pennywise nearly flinches away as your voice rises to a shriek. Your hand goes to your chest, and all at once if feels as if all the air has left the room. You start to panic, heart pounding and becoming tight behind your breast.

“Oh God, Penn, I have this horrible feeling in my stomach that they’re gonna come back for you and I— I can’t— I can’t breathe—“

“They will not harm me.”

“They did when they were kids!” You remind it, kicking the covers off of your sweat-soaked legs. “They’re bigger now.”

“And their minds are weaker. Do not mistake me, Child. I will never let anything hurt me. I will never let anything hurt either of us.”

For all that you are falling apart, Pennywise looks perfectly calm in front of you. So arrogant, so utterly sure of itself and its superiority over the things that nearly destroyed it all those years ago.

You take in another big, gulping breath; and in doing that you’re now completely aware of how sore your throat feels. Skin blisteringly hot, mouth dry and aching; maybe Pennywise was right. Maybe you are sick— maybe it was just some awful fucking fever dream and you’re acting like a little bitch over nothing.

When it reaches its arms out to you and tells you once more that everything is okay and those awful humans will never be back, you leap forward into its arms. You nod your head slowly, though some ice-cold part of you knows you don’t believe it. Not really.

Because this?

This isn’t the first dream you’ve ever had about losing it.


	16. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are extremely sick. Pennywise cannot heal you and thinks you should see a doctor. You really, really do not agree.

If Pennywise was ever right about one thing, it was that the nightmare you had last week was definitely a fever-dream. You’ve been in what feels like your own personal Hell for days on end, waking up in the middle of the night in absolute agony; and tonight is certainly no exception.

Pennywise, disturbed by your stirring and groans of pain, slowly opens one of its eyes. A tiny sliver of golden light, like a crescent moon, bursts to life as it takes a peek at you. When it registers the state of your face, sweating and sickly-green, it launches forward and cups its hands around your cheeks.

“Tell me what to do.” It pleads, and the horror in its eyes is worse than anything you’ve ever seen in your life. “Please, Little One. Tell me how to make you better.”

You pull back out of its grip. This isn’t right. Seeing something so powerful and deadly look so frightened and pained— it just isn’t fucking right. It’s like looking at something you weren’t ever meant to see, and something in the back of your mind screams for you to please just make that look on its face go away.

“Holy shit. I’m fine, Pennywise. Really. This— you’re— you’re really stressing me out but— but I’m fine.”

“You are not fine.” It insists, panicked jerking movements as it worries over you. 

“It’s probably just the flu or something. I was supposed to get a shot for work but... but doing things is just so _hard.”_

“Flu...” It repeats, words hushed and low. It narrows its brow and jerks its head away from you, as though it’s trying to remember exactly what that word means.

“I’m gonna be fine.” You insist. “I’ve just gotta go and get myself some—“

“No.” Its arm crosses out in front of you, barring you from trying to sit up again. “No. You will tell me what you need, and I will bring it to you.”

You blink at it for a moment, stunned at the offer.

“Uh... Ibuprofen? I guess? It’s in a little pill-bottle in the cabinet above the microwave. I’d be more specific, but I’m almost positive that’s the only thing I have in the medicine cabinet that isn’t liquor.”

Pennywise rolls its eyes. Before you can even blink again the medicine is there, resting in its palm, offered out to you like a doctor to a patient. For a moment you think about questioning the logistics behind its manipulation of matter— whether or not this is the exact same medicine that was in your cabinet, and if there’s any possibility its powers could have fucked with the ingredients and accidentally changed the edible-chalk into anthrax or some shit.

You decide against it though; and instead ask if for a cup of water.

“Flu kills humans.” The clown remarks, as soon as you’ve taken twice the recommended dose. “It takes them to the weeds... Like a cancer... Or old age...”

“The flu doesn’t kill perfectly healthy twenty-something-year-olds. If it even is the flu— and I’m not saying that it is— then worst case scenario I’m sick as a dog the rest of the week and you have to keep mind-controling my boss into not giving a shit about how much work I’m missing.” 

It shakes its head.

“If you are not yet healed in another week—“

“I will be.” You interrupt, before reaching out toward it. “Now c’mere, Doctor Pennywise. Your patient is freezing, and she needs to be cuddled stat.”

A growl rumbles in its throat, but it quickly resigns. Its body isn’t naturally warm, but you can feel it heating itself up like a sun-soaked rock up as it settles down beneath the covers beside you.

You realize that falling asleep again now will definitely ensure you a sleepless and hell-filled night to come, but you can’t fight it. You’re out within minutes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nearly another week passes without any change. In fact, you’re almost certain to be getting worse, symptoms multiplying and becoming stronger by the day. Your clown never once leaves your side, watches you while you get as little sleep as you can. 

“Are you awake?” Pennywise asks, voice low, as close to a whisper as it can manage with its strange and unnatural voice.

“Unfortunately.”

“You are hot again.”

“Thanks.”

“Your _skin.”_ It amends, eyes narrowing in slight annoyance. “The fever.”

You nod, wincing as you try and swallow. You can’t breathe through your nose, and the air stings and tastes disgusting when it hits the back of your throat.

If there’s one thing you hate about getting sick, it’s the throat-pain. You’ve always had issues with your tonsils, always battling the inevitable and excruciating pain of having them swell and become raw. When you turned twenty-one your mother told you that, as a gift to you, she would either give you the money to have them removed or pay for you to get breast implants. So now here you lie, sporting a pair of 400 cc silicon boobs and the largest pair of tonsils in Penobscot County. If only you’d have—

“Child.” It hisses, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“What?”

“You are not getting better.” Pennywise states flatly, before shoving its thumb between your teeth and prying your jaws open. It inspects your throat with unveiled distaste, crinkles its nose and sniffs you over like a rotten piece of meat. “Worse, Little Thing. All this time in bed, and you are only getting worse.”

You open your mouth to argue with it; but all that comes out is a wet cough— one so sudden and loud that it startles your lover into ripping its claws right through the surface of the mattress.

“Jesus, Pennywise! These are my good sheets.”

“Foolish!” It snarls, eyes burning red in their sockets. “You are sick! I told you my home was no place for a thing like you.”

“Oh, pfffft! ”You muster up your best excuse for a scoff, voice weak and pained. “Come off of it already. There’s no way to prove this is all because I went down into the sewers... and then fell into a bunch of wastewater... and then got some of it in my mou— Don’t give me that look. For all we know I got sick from touching a fuckin’ shopping cart, or eating that Fun-Dip I found on the side of the road.”

“You got sick from my home. My home. My home. _My home.”_

The two of you glare at each other like petulant children, lips pulled back over teeth and arms crossed stubbornly together. Its hands are now that of a predatory bird, needle-fangs glistening in the lamplight of your room. You don’t break your burning eye-contact with it, not even as you reach over to the nightstand and blindly grab yourself another lozenge.

You’re cranky— both of you are, day after day of feeling bored and miserable in this room. Your chest aches so badly you can hardly even speak, from a cough that keeps the both of you up all through the night. Your whole body shivers so violently that it fucking hurts, skin feeling frozen yet red-hot to the touch. It’s like a knife to the throat each time you have to force yourself to swallow, tonsils swollen and coated with gag-inducing pus. It’s been a few years since you watched the original Exorcist film, but you’re pretty sure this is exactly how that little girl felt.

“I’m back going to sleep.”

“Then spit it out.”

“What?”

“The candy.” It grates.

“The can—? My cough-drop? Wh— no. Fuck you.”

A low growl rumbles in Pennywise’s throat, somewhere deep behind its ruffled collar. It’s somehow managed to convince itself that you’ll definitely choke on your lozenge if you fall asleep with it in your mouth, despite knowing it’s the only way to stave off the throat-pain enough to finally be able to drift off.

“Spit—“

“Nope.”

“—It—“

“Won’t do it.”

“—Out.”

“Sorry ‘bout it.”

Mischief sparkles in its eyes, so quick you almost miss it, and it vanishes the mentholated sliver from inside your cheek with its powers as if it were never even there.

You watch its face change. Softer, happier. Unabashedly pleased with itself, it draws the edges its lips into a smile.

“Now you may sleep.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

By what you’re pretty sure is now the third week of being sick, it becomes gleamingly clear to you that this is nowhere close to an ordinary virus. The near-delirium-inducing fever, tonsils so swollen they’re starting to touch, and cough from the devil itself are enough to make you practically feel afraid— as much as you’d like to avoid all hints of that emotion around the fear-eater beside you.

There are times when it relishes in your fear, teases you right to the edge and breathes in your scent as though it were the most fragrant flower on this earth. So long as it knows it’s not crossing any lines, and you are perfectly receptive to it; it has absolutely no problem scaring you. 

But this? It couldn’t handle something like this. It can’t. Knowing you’re frightened of something it didn’t cause, knowing it can’t violently murder the thing that’s making you afraid; it’s the worst thing your lover could ever experience.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I cannot heal you.” It tells you one morning, and at first you think it’s shame in its voice. Then you realize— it’s not shame at all.

It’s fucking _pain._

It’s hurt by the fact that it can’t take this sickness away from you. It wants you to get better, and feels as though it’s failing you by not being able to help. The look in its eyes, dull and grey, is like a shard of glass to the gut.

You don’t know how to explain the hot, pain-soaked feeling in your stomach when it suddenly turns to something that resembles anger. Maybe it’s because you‘re mad at yourself for getting sick. Maybe you’re furious at the fact that something you love this much should never have to feel so upset— and especially not because of something that’s happening to you. No matter what the cause of its pain is, it’s still fucking there; and you know you’d do anything to take that look out of its eyes again.

“Jesus. It’s not— This isn’t fucking rabies, Pennywise. It’s the flu. Or maybe... Or maybe even just a really shitty cold.” You reach for another lozenge, then stare down at your fingers as you work at the wrapper so you don’t have to look at its face. “I’ll be fine in a few days. My fever will break, the coughing will stop, and I’ll be fine.” 

“You are lying. I can smell the lie on you as strong as I can smell the sickness in your breath. You are wasting away in here, and I need to take you to a healer.”

“A doctor.” You correct it, bitterly. “The word you’re looking for is _doctor,_ and I’m sorry, but that is just not fucking happening. I’m pretty sure you can take a walk through my memory-lane and see just how I feel about the healthcare situation here in Good ‘Ole Derry, Maine.”

Pennywise had once told you that adult fears are typically too complex, and that that is why it prefers to prey upon children. You’d nodded your head at that, reasoning that it really did make a lot of sense. You tried to imagine all the situational and depressingly complicated things an adult might be afraid of; like accidentally missing a car-payment or getting a threatening letter from the IRS. Then you realized that you are technically an adult yourself, yet quickly noticed that most of your fears are as simple as most children. 

You’ve always been afraid of dinosaurs. There’s always been something eerie about horses. You absolutely refuse to watch any movie that contains leprechauns, guillotines, or scarecrows. Lawnmowers? Hate ‘em. Silverfish? Absolute nightmare-fuel. Still can’t sleep without a nightlight if you accidentally remember any one of the pictures from ‘Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark.’ There’s something off about John Stamos, and you firmly believe that Robocop is real and coming for us all. You’re petrified of every single thing that lives inside of the ocean— you’re even afraid of _mayonnaise_ for Christ’s sake. But most of all, more than anything else in the world, you are absolutely petrified of going to the hospital.

It’s not so much that you’re afraid of the pain associated with having a medical-procedure. Momma didn’t raise no bitch, okay? You can take as much pain as anyone who’s fucking the most powerful and terrifying predator on the planet. So it’s not the pain. It’s just about every single other fucking aspect possible.

The nervousness of sitting out in the waiting room, the smell of antiseptic, the blinding white industrial lighting; and above all: the absolute incompetence of every single doctor practicing in Derry. You don’t know what it is about this place, but it seems to make every single adult over a certain age an absolute fucking zombie. 

Last year you reluctantly went to the doctor because your tonsils had swollen completely shut. You were positive that it was strep; but instead of inspecting or swabbing your throat the doctor spun you around, gave you a shot in your ass-cheek, and sent you on your merry way. You then, of course, ended up in the emergency room less than three days later.

There was that emergency-room visit when they lied and told you that you weren’t allowed to refuse a spinal tap despite being over eighteen, and the botched blood-patch that soon followed it. There was the time they mistakenly told you that you had diabetes. You can still clearly remember that time they accidentally diagnosed you with SARS, and also something you’re pretty sure they called “mega-kidney.” You could go on, honestly. The hospital in Derry is a Godless fucking place.

You realize that Pennywise is still staring at you, expecting you to get over yourself and to give into it. You shake your head with a snort of air, before pulling the covers up to your chin and flipping onto your side.

“I’m not going. You can pout all you want— but I’m not fucking going. I’ll go there with a virus and come home missing a kidney or some shit.”

“Fine.” It huffs behind you. “We do not have to go.”

You roll back over toward it and brush a strand of tangled hair out of your eyes.

“Really?”

The clown nods emphatically, tiny bells jingling on its suit as it slowly rises to its feet. It saunters back, practically dancing towards your doorway before sharply stopping.

“We do not have to go.” It repeats, but this time there’s something strange in its voice— badly hidden, like a small child telling a lie. “We can simply wait out your sickness until your fever has broken.”

Your eyes narrow in unhidden suspicion. You sit up slowly, trying to figure out just what its angle is. 

Pennywise smiles dramatically, bottom-lip pulled down in that stupid little grin it so often wears. Your bedroom door creaks all the way open on its own, and your mate cocks its head to gesture out towards the hallway.

“Let us just go into the living room, hm?” It suggests, moving its arm up and down around the doorframe like a magician’s assistant. “We can rest, and watch pictures, and eat candy, and—“

“No way. I’m not,” you pause to cough, “I’m not stupid. I know exactly what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna take one step through that door and I’m gonna magically end up walking right into the fuckin’ hospital.”

Pennywise’s smile doesn’t falter. It just stands there frozen awkwardly, as though it truly thought that would work. Then it sighs, lets its shoulders droop dramatically as it turns away from you.

“Alright then, Little One.” It begins, with a voice that sounds like defeat. “You are far too clever for me. I will just be on my way downstairs to watch Cave, and I will leave you well enough alone.”

It hangs its head down, sulking dramatically as it disappears from your room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

That next morning, which you’ve miraculously managed to spend sleeping soundly, there’s a sudden knock on the doorframe. It takes all the strength you have to raise your head toward the direction of the sound to find your father, standing right inside of your bedroom.

“Hey there, Sweetie. Just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. I thought maybe you and I could take a quick trip on down to the hospital and see what’s—“

“What the f— Penny wh— Jesus I— I know that’s fucking you!”

“No, no, it’s me.” The imposter clears its throat, becoming suddenly deeper and far less convincing than before. “This is your dad.”

“It is absolutely not.”

Your father’s face changes, skin morphing red and white and dulling with a coat of perfectly-applied paint. Pennywise doesn’t smile, or laugh softly at its attempted joke. It just looks sad. Disappointed.

But even still you don’t care. You’d rather cut off one of your own fingers and eat them before going to the doctor. You’re terrified of going, your health-insurance sucks, you feel like absolute shit, and need all the rest you can get. All this arguing with it, it’s getting you absolutely nowhere. In fact, only making you feel worse  

“Please, just stop. I’m asking you— I’m begging you to stop. I know you don’t understand... but this is just—“

“Selfish!” The being snarls, a sharp ferocious sound that almost makes you flinch away out of surprise. “Selfish, prideful, vile, lazy little infant! You are too ignorant to do a thing that could save you!“

For a split-second all you can do is stare at it, words so cruel and unexpected you can’t even believe they came from its mouth. Then it hits you, the full red-hot force of your anger, so sudden it makes your vision blur.

“For the last fucking time: it is the goddamn _flu!_ It goes away on its fucking own! You’re like a fuckin’ billion years old— how on earth have you managed to be  _this_  fucking dumb?!”

Pennywise laughs darkly, nostrils flaring as it shakes its head at you.

“Oh, I am _far_ from dumb. I am the smartest being who has ever lived. I am the wisest of them all. But _you,_ Little One? You are _stupid.”_ It snarls at you, the whites of its eyes now black with fury. “Stupid! Just like the pathetic human you are.”

You grab the nearest pillow without even thinking and fling it across the room at it, missing by nearly a yard. It roars in response, jaw coming unhinged to reveal row after row of horrible fangs.

You know that it could kick your ass. It could literally tear you apart and eat you if it wanted; but you’re angry and miserable enough now to not even give a shit. The two of you just stay there, glaring at each other with heaving shoulders; like two alley-cats squaring up for a brawl.

“Go ahead, Pennywise.” You dare it, words seeping out through clenched teeth. “Do it. Hurt me. Kill me— just like you killed those boys in that trailer.”

Something flashes in its eyes. You watch its shoulders drop, lips suddenly clamping shut. It looks suddenly smaller now, far less monstrous and intimidating than just moments before. It doesn’t say anything back, not for a long time at least. When it finally does speak its voice is low, as steady and back to normal as possible.

“If you would like to simply rot away in here that is your own choice, but I do wish to be around to watch it.” 

“Then leave.” You challenge, settling back down into the sheets. “I don’t remember ever once asking you to stay here anyway.”

Pennywise’s mouth parts briefly, as if to argue something back to you; but then it closes as quickly as it opened. Its fingers clench up into two clawed fists, still angry yet far more composed than it had been before. It spins around, slams your door behind it with a force so hard the entire knob rips out in its grip.

“See ya.” You whisper hatefully to yourself before jerking the covers up over your head.

Just as soon as you’re sure it isn’t still watching, you close your eyes and start to cry.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It would only take about fifteen minutes for you to cool down enough to regret telling it to leave, but it would take nearly twelve hours for you to say the words out loud.

“Please?” You whisper, towards the darkest part of your room. “Please come back.”

Your eyes adjust enough to see something moving, yellow snake-eyes glowing to life just a few feet above the floor. The clown stands from a crouch, lets out a loud sigh as it walks over toward you.

“Where did you—“

You stop yourself from asking where it went, afraid you won’t like the answer. The knowledge of what Pennywise eats has been something you’ve dealt with since the first day it showed itself to you, but for some reason the thought of you sending it away only to have it choose a small victim is too much for you to push to the back of your mind right now.

“I never left.”

“What?”

“You asked me where I went.” Pennywise begins, walking slowly and steadily towards your side of the bed. “I told you; I never left. Not truly.”

Tears flood your eyes; overly emotional from how exhausted and ill your body feels. You reach for one of its hands, which it willingly gives to you, and you drag it to lie flat against  your face.

“I’m sorry.” You tell it, hoping your voice sounds strong enough to seem sincere.

“As am I, Little One.” It answers quietly, softly brushing its fingers over the curve of your cheek. “I did not mean any of the things I said to you. I was only being spiteful. Seeing you like this... It _hurts me._ I love you. I only want you to be healthy again.”

It feels like a cable snapping in your chest. You can feel your heart physically breaking at its words, hot liquid rushing down the hollows of your eye-sockets.

“I love you too, Pennywise.”

It shifts, and in the moonlight that seeps in through the cracks of your blinds you can see that its smiling— softly, almost sad.

“If you are not better by tomorrow, Little One... Can I please take you to the—“

“Yes.” You interrupt, voice free of any annoyance or anger. You reach up higher on its arm, and urge it down into a warm and needed hug. “Yes. If I’m not any better tomorrow, I’ll suck it up... and I’ll go to the doctor.”

Satisfied at last, Pennywise starts to purr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who would win in a fight? This reader or Tasty Tasty Beautiful Fear’s reader


	17. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pennywise is acting weird, but you’re feeling a lot better.

When for some reason you suddenly wake up in the middle of the night, your skin immediately prickles with the undeniable sensation of being watched. Two eyes bore down at you like a cat’s in the darkness, open dangerously wide. Even though you know they’re the eyes of your mate’s, there’s a split-second where you’re certain that you’re trapped in a nightmare again. It’s glaring at you as if you’ve just done something wrong. You hold its gaze for a while, drowsy and confused, before rolling back over onto your side. As weird as it is to see your eldritch boyfriend mean-mugging your slumbering body for no reason at all, you shrug it away and try to concentrate on going back to sleep.

But the feeling never quite passes. The goosebumps never go away.

When by some happy miracle you’re finally able to drift off again, the sun’s loathsome rays are soon to follow. Your throat is still scratchy, stomach still flooded with nausea; but you’re almost certain your fever has completely lifted. It’s a complete one-eighty from the shitfest of last night, but alas your promise to Pennywise still echoes over and over in your memory. You’re still technically sick, so you tell yourself not to open your eyes yet. Maybe it’ll think you’re still peacefully asleep, and you’ll be able to lie here in bed just a while longer before having to go to the place you hate most in this world.

“Little One?”

The sound of its voice above and to the right of you takes you by surprise. You’d figured that it was most likely awake as well, but hadn’t been ready for it to urge you up and out of the room so early. Tired, lazy; you decide it best to keep up the ruse of being asleep. Eyes clenched together, you’re careful to keep your breathing slow and steady under its eyes.

“Little One.” Pennywise repeats, firm and tempered. “I know that you are awake.”

A groan falls from your lips as you twist your upper body over towards it.

“Okay— I’m up, I’m up. Just... Give me a minute... I’ve gotta get ready a little before we head to the—“

_“No.”_

The clown interrupts you so abruptly that you can’t help but flinch back in surprise. You stare at it— searching its face— but its expression is completely still and unreadable.

“No.” It repeats, a little softer this time. The tension in its shoulders slowly slackens, and it shifts in its seat before speaking again. “You are getting better on your own... You do not have to go; I am not going to make you.”

“Uh... Oh— Okay then. Fine with me, I mean...”

Pennywise doesn’t answer, just scoots back even further away on the bed. You watch a dribble of saliva as it pools in the center of its lip. If you felt better, you’d probably try to lean up and lick it clean. It’s been so long since the two of you were any more intimate than a few kisses on the forehead.

“I love you.” You blurt out, suddenly needing to hear it back. It almost sounds like a question, though you certainly hadn’t meant for it to.

You reach out to lay your hand over the space between the clown’s cheek and the edge of its eye socket. Its skin is like ice to the touch, though last night with its arms around you it’d been perfectly warm. It closes its eyes, and when you try to pull away it raises its hand to hold you there, like it doesn’t want you to let go. 

“Let us go somewhere today.” It prompts, and when its eyes open again they almost look like glass. “Just the two of us— alone.”

“Okay. I guess it’s too late for me to try to go into work today anyway. Maybe we can uh... I dunno. Go have a picnic or something? There’s this pretty open field by the woods near my grandparents’ house. Would you wanna go do that? I don’t know how long I’ll feel like being out though.” 

Pennywise hesitates for a moment. Then it nods.

By the time you gather up everything you’d like to take with you, you’re almost completely out of breath. For a moment you consider asking it for a rain check, but a pang of guilt at your side keeps you from going through with it. It never asks you to join it on trips out of the house. After all of the convoluted dates you’ve put it through, the least you can do is go sit on a blanket with it for a while.

Suddenly filled with excitement at doing something new with the creature you love, you flash Pennywise a beaming smile before pulling on your jacket. It returns the gesture by changing into its human-form without being asked, the one it wears whenever there’s a chance of anyone seeing it with you. No longer does this shape seem like a stranger to you, but rather nothing more than a different outfit for it to wear on special occasions. An extension of itself; just as striking and out-of-place in a town that’s so weathered and plain.

It stares out of the window of your car as you drive across town. Wordless and still, you even think at one point that it might have fallen asleep; but the bright green of its irises in the reflection of the glass beside it give it away.

You hold out your hand, fingers stretched wide to make room for its own. It doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t seem to sense how close you are to the thin stretch of denim covering its leg.

“Hey you. Vulgar the Clown— Everything okay over there?”

The man looks near-startled when it whips its head around towards you. Eyes wide, mouth parted; you can tell it didn’t even hear your question at all.

“I just— I asked if you were okay. You seem...”

 _You seem kind of fucking weird,_ you bite back; sure you’re over analyzing everything it’s doing just as you always are.

“Oh. Fine.” It interrupts, before softening and turning away again. “I am fine.”

Your fingers, still empty, curl up like the legs of a dying spider before heading back to the grooves on your steering wheel. For the first time in a long while, you can’t think of anything to say back. You wriggle around in your seat before relaxing deeper into it.

Being holed up in a stuffy little house for weeks on end— that can’t be healthy for anyone. Some fresh air will do the both of you good.

There was nothing at all but canned soup and gatorade left in your house, so you decide it would be a good idea to stop at the store and grab some fruit and water to snack on. When you pull into the parking lot you expect your Robert-Gray-disguised companion to come in with you, but when it makes no move to rise out of its seat you simply shrug and head in by yourself.

Moving mindlessly through the aisles, you can’t help but feel revisited by the eerie sight of Pennywise’s eyes watching you last night while you slept. Yellow, like the beams of two headlights; flashing over and over in your mind. Maybe it was just another one of your creepy dreams. Maybe it wasn’t you that it was looking at...

But if it _was,_ then what in the ever-loving fuck could it have been thinking about?

Some lady almost slams into you with her cart, and it’s just the thing you need to snap back to reality. She glares at you as if it were your fault, so you’re sure to glare back just as fiercely.

People in this town can be such absolute fucks sometimes. You grab your strawberries and Aquafina, and all but fist-fight your way through the unnecessarily-chaotic self-checkout line before leaving.

Back at the car Pennywise seems to have not moved a muscle. It’s watching some young couple through the rearview mirror with what looks to be disgust, head rested back limply on the headrest. It doesn’t even seem to notice that you’ve returned, and never once looks away from the couple until you’ve pulled out of seeing-distance of the parking lot.

You used to always been one of those people; where when someone pulls away from you, you can’t seem to stop from throwing yourself at them even harder to keep them from withdrawing. It’s something you’ve tried to work on; so despite all of itsout-of-place behavior, you simply wash your hands of worrying about it.

Sometimes people— or whatever Pennywise is— they just don’t feel like being affectionate. You’re certainly no stranger to having off days, and you’re certain that that is what this is. Last night you fell asleep with its arms around you, the rumble of a purr in its chest as it held you. This is just a bleh day, in the dead-middle of an increasingly bleh week.

You search for its favorite song on Spotify, and you surround yourself with a blanket of unreasonably loud music until the short trip to your grandparents’ field finally comes to an end.

“We’re here, Pissywise. Try not to uh... Be so excited about it.”

Pennywise stares blankly in response to your sarcastic remark, but when you unbuckle to get out it obediently follows suit. It almost seems tired as it opens its arms to receive the bundle of blankets from the trunk, wordless as you drape the straps of your shopping bags over its wrists. 

 _Maybe it is,_ you think to yourself. _Maybe it’s starting to come down with whatever illness it was that you’re just now getting over._

“You can just set all that shit down right... About... _There.”_

Pennywise freezes, then lets everything in its grasp drop right onto the overgrown grass beneath its feet.

You slap a hand over your face. It takes you a moment to gather a few deep breaths and make your way over to it, scooping everything up and chasing down one of the escaped paper plates before it travels into the woods.

It only takes a few minutes to get everything set up, and after it’s finished you can’t help but snap a picture of your wonderful picnic to post on every social media platform you have. The ripe, fresh fruit and gorgeously tall man sitting on the opposite side of your That-70’s-Show-inspired blanket will be sure enough to make the people you went to high school with think you have your life all together.

A gentle rolling of thunder far off in the distance cuts through your thoughts. It’s still bright enough through the clouds out that when you look up at the sky you have to shield the sun from your eyes, but it definitely isn’t what you expected it to be like today.

“Sorry the weather is kind of shitty. My phone said it was supposed to be really pretty out, but I guess not.”

Pennywise just shrugs.

It hasn’t started to rain yet, but it’s definitely coming within the next few hours. The air is gray and thick, almost as if a clear mist has settled in the lowest places of Derry. It lingers on your tongue; that, and the damp smell of the tiny stretch of forest in front of you.

“Those woods remind me of that scene from that movie— you know— where that little pilgrim girl is playing with the baby and it just randomly fuckin’ vanishes?”

You stare at the trees, surprisingly bare for this time of year, and think of the first time you ever saw Pennywise in the flesh. You were wasted. You were always wasted back then; late nights riding around drunk in Ricky’s shitty green Camry with your cheek pressed to the glass. All that searching, waiting, hoping for something— hoping for anything to make your life feel less dull than it was. You were fine. Things were fine.

They just weren’t ever fucking enough. 

When you look back at Pennywise its hair looks more damp and darker than only just a moment before. It clings to the sides of its forehead like wet silk, and _God_ if it isn’t so fucking beautiful. You’ve always thought so, even since the first night the two of you ever stumbled upon each other. This form, the clown; they’re both so fucking alluring to you now. 

You think about the first time it ever made love to you. The memory still sends a stab of want through your body, stomach tightening at the thought of how much you’d yearned for it. Never in a million years did you expect for it to ever truly share your feelings, or for it to ever want you in any of the ways that you wanted it.

The urge to tell it again that you love it dances at the end of your tongue, but you feel like you’ve been saying it too much lately. Instead you cock your head to the side and pull your feet towards you to sit cross-legged.

“Do you remember your home?”

It furrows its brows; you can see them twitching as it stares at you, and you realize it must think you were asking about where it used to live among the sewers.

“Oh no, I mean— I meant your planet. The one you originally came from.”

“Ah. Then yes.” It answers, as if recalling the memory of it in its mind. “I remember it.”

“What was it like?”

You follow its eyes as it watches an ant march across its pale fingertip, turning it over and letting it wander up into the sparse hair covering its wrist. Its nails are so short and pristine; for a moment you ache for the claws that so often rip out from behind its gloves like a bird of prey. It brings down a thumb to press against the body of the insect, and just like that its tiny life is snuffed out.

_“Dying.”_

“Uh... Oh. Well alright then. So— Hey.” Suddenly your eyes open wide; your spine straightens as if a bolt of electricity had coursed through it. “I have a question.”

It lets out a soft grunt. “And I am certain that you will ask it.”

“Do you ever uh... Do you ever think about how you’re basically just Megamind in clownface?”

It narrows its eyes and slowly shakes its head, which of course you take as encouragement to continue on. You pause just long enough to scarf down a strawberry before continuing.

“Yep. The same big forehead, same pointy nose and chin— and the cheekbones... You’re both _aliens_... Both the last of your race... I’m pretty sure he even shape-shifts in the movie, falls in love with a human and tries to stop being so destructive. I saw that movie three times when it came out in theaters.” 

You find yourself grinning at the memory, but then a realization flashes across the front of your mind. 

“He didn’t have a real name either.”

“Megamind is not a real name?” It asks, genuinely curious.

“Well— Ye— I mean... I mean his parents never really gave him a name. People just started calling him that. Like how on those weird Cryptids-of-Derry message boards they usually just call you _‘IT.’”_

For a moment Pennywise almost looks amused, but the expression is gone in the blink of an eye. It hardens itself back up, just the way it did in the old days, and you feel your stomach suddenly drop.

Then it mumbles something, but you aren’t quite able to catch it.

“What was that?”

It glances up at you briefly, eyes dull, before looking back down again at the ant-guts on its hand.

“I said... That I am _hungry.”_

Yikes. Shit. Goddamn, now you just feel awkward. It’s never said those words to you before. You don’t know what to do, fumbling for the right thing to say back to that.

“Oh.” Is all that comes out, and you twist your face up at your own inability to just use your fucking words.

Say something else. Say something else.

“Heh— So is that why you’re acting all weird? You’ve finally decided to just eat me?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but when it comes out it sounds so fucking odd. Small, strained; like your weird aunt whose jokes never land at Thanksgiving so she never comes back for Christmas; but you shake it away and keep trying. “Well uh... Do you need to go... You know... Find something to eat?”

Something cold and nauseating rushes through your veins; you feel suddenly very sick. When you look down at your plate of strawberries, all you can see is flesh; red, sticky, half-eaten flesh; and you push it away from you as if it were hot to the touch.  

“No.”

“No what? Use your words.”

“ _No,_ I do not need to find something to eat.”

You bend forward to try and get a better look at its downcast face, and you notice that it looks as if it’s about to be sick too.

“Jesus fucking christ.” You shake your head in exasperation and throw your arms up before letting them fall back down into your lap. “Would you just— would you tell me what the fuck’s going on today?”

Pennywise jerks its head up to look at you as if you’ve reached across the blanket and slapped it. Still, it doesn’t make any move to open its mouth and offer up any semblance of an explanation.

You can feel your skin heating up, and you’re not sure if it’s from fever or sheer frustration.

“I’ve literally never seen you act like this. Where is it even coming from? Last night you were all lovey-dovey with me after our fi— Wait— Is _that_ it? Are you mad about our fight?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

Its mouth clamps shut. You can see the muscles in its jaw moving, clenching and grinding behind its snow-painted skin; but it doesn’t answer you.

“You can tell me.” You assure it, heartfelt; trying hard to cool yourself down. “Whatever it is— You know you can tell me anything.”

Pennywise looks back up at you, eyes wet and opened as far as you’ve ever seen them, and at once you know the answer before you even open your mouth again.

“Do you... Do you not... Want to be with me anymore?”

“I—“ It swallows down a hard lump in its throat. “We are simply.... We are wrong for each other.”

Its words hit you like a slap to the face. The air goes thin, colder than it was just only a moment before. Sounds become warbled and muffled, as if you’re suddenly listening to everything that’s happening with ears pressed against an inch of solid glass.

You don’t even realize that you’re speaking, words tumbling out of your mouth like vomit. “I don’t understand. Last night things were— We were fine. You... You said you loved me and we... We were _fine...”_

“It has been on my mind for a long while, Child.”

“What? No. No that’s— That’s bullshit.”

“It is true. You know it to be true.”

“It’s something else... it’s all... Is it because I wouldn’t go to the doctor with you?” Your eyes dart around the blanket around you, racking your brain for something, anything to explain what could have changed between last night and today. “Is it because I threw that pillow at you?”

“Child...”

“Or because I wouldn’t listen to you?”

“No, _no,_ it is not—“

“Is it because I got sick?”

Silence. Pennywise clears its throat.

It leans forward so that you can hear it, voice softer than it had just been. “I never meant to grow so fond of a thing that death can touch.”

“Holy shit.” All you can do is shake your head and scoff. “I can’t believe that’s it... You’re leaving me... Because I got _sick...”_

“We were never a pair meant to last. Your illness merely reminded me of it. I was wrong.”

“You were _wrong?”_

“Your life... It is nothing but a moment in mine.”

There it is; the answer laid out in front of your feet like the lifeless trophy of a barn-cat. It heats your blood, heart pounding like a hammer behind your breast and you feel like you’re fucking falling. It feels as if the earth has opened up beneath your crossed legs, and now all you can do is drop. Fall, drop, and crash to the floor like those fucking bags in its arms.

Oh God. This is happening. This is really fucking happening.

You sit there for a while in silence, reaching for something but never quite able to grab it. It’s like there’s a razor blade behind your eyes, some fucking Saw game gone wrong and all your face can do is just fucking hurt.

“When you—“ You have to stop. You didn’t even notice you were about to cry, but suddenly the sides of your neck are damp and hot with tears. Eyes closed for a moment, you try to find the strength to keep talking without falling apart in front of it.

“When you get a pet, you accept that it’s a heartbreak waiting to happen... I know that’s a bad analogy.. I know you probably don’t even understand the concept of having a fucking pet but... But the idea is the same. My death is inevitable. I will die. Just like you’ll have to go to fucking sleep. We are both tragedies waiting to fucking happen but— but I don’t _care.”_

Your first instinct is to reach out for it, but you hold yourself back. It isn’t looking at you anymore, but it feels like it’s staring at you. You drop your fists back down into your lap, heavy, like balls of ice. Like a corpse.

A thing that death can touch.

“And maybe that’s not fair of me... I know you’ll be alive for such a fucking long time without me but... And I’ll just be this fucking memory. This fucking— Just this fucking _tiny little moment_ in your life... But you’re not a moment to me. I will think of you for the rest of my fucking life, whether you’re with me or not. When you’re asleep I’ll— I’ll look for you in other people near me. I’ll mourn your absence... And I’ll think about you every single day. Because I _love you._ I’ve loved you more than I have ever loved anything, and I want you to be my entire life.”

The air changes again. It floods your nostrils, clings to the back of your mouth; bitter and cold. You can taste it. You can taste the fucking sadness of it all. There’s so much hurt; so much fucking aching all around you. It darkens the sky and makes your hands shake harder than they did before you ever fell in love with it.

It looks at you, and there’s pity in its eyes. There’s pity, and you hate it, how much fucking sense it’s making.

“So please.” You don’t even notice how hard your hands are clasped together until it glances down at them. _“Please,_ Pennywise. Don’t—Don’t do this to me.”

Its swollen lip trembles, and just when you think it might start to cry its eyes change. Amber replaces that blue that had just been there, and its brow narrows into a v-shape above its crinkled nose.

“It is already done.” The words come out like venom, a flash of pointed yellow teeth behind its lips. “I should have known this was a mistake.”

“A _mistake?”_

The callousness in its voice takes you by surprise. For a moment you’re frozen, trembling violently; unable to even blink at it, tears burning at your eyes.

“Wh-what? Why would you even s-say that? A mistake? Are you— I was a— I was a fucking mistake to you?”

“A _lapse in my judgment.”_ It affirms. “I was a fool to think prey could ever be anything more than what it was born to be.”

“Prey.” You repeat the word as if it’s your first time ever hearing it. “Prey? That’s what you— After all of this... And you still just see me as prey? That’s really what you think of me?”

“Not think. _Know.”_

Shock. Anger. Betrayal. Disgust. A sardonic laugh bursts free from your chest. Just like that, a red hot wave of anger replaces the agony; and you welcome it home.

“Alright then, Pettywise. If picking a fight with me makes you feel less guilty about leaving me then I’ll bite. You wanna have it out with me before you go? Wanna say a bunch of mean shit so you can pretend it’s all my fault tonight when you’re curled up in your sewage-bed?”

“Childish.”

“Yeah— You’d know, right?”

It spits a thick wad of drool at the ground in front of you, and its anger feels _good._ You want to amplify it. You want to feel it all around you, want to just fucking drown in it. You want the both of you to drown in it— in the hurt.

Eyes locked onto the damp spot on the blanket, still reeling in disbelief; you have to bite your lip for a moment to keep from spitting back at it.

 “You know— Thanks a boatload for wasting almost two years of my fucking life just _living it up_ in my house. Thanks for never giving me a fucking choice as to whether or not I actually wanted to live with a fucking serial killer.”

“Your tongue.” It hisses.

“All that fucking time... Just using me as some weird form of entertainment... All so you can just throw me away out of nowhere once you get bored of fucking me.”

A terrible growl ignites in its chest. It matches the thunder, louder than you’ve ever heard it before.

“What’s wrong, John Wayne Gayce? Our relationship get in the way of you being able to murder your fill of little kids? Or are you just too big of a pussy to let yourself get anymore attached to someone who might die someday?”

“Don’t forget _what_ it is that you are speaking to, _Little One.”_

Pale skin brightens, the thin dark fabric of its shirt thickens and lengthens. In almost the blink on an eye the clown is back, eyes and hair both as red as you’ve ever seen them before. 

Thunder rumbles through the trees, grass swaying violently on the ground around you.

“I could rip your lungs from your chest, pluck your heart from your veins and _eat it._ I could _devour_ you. I could _feed_ on your flesh as I _feast_ on your fear.”

“You think I’m scared of you?” You uncross your legs and puff out your chest so that you can finally stand up to it— literally— with some shred of conviction. “That’s funny. You might be on top of the food-chain here, but that certainly hasn’t stopped you from being a fucking little _bitch!”_

Pennywise stands up after you. A great invisible force rushes over your body, wraps itself around your limbs and presses against your chest. Your legs give out beneath you, and your ass slams into the wet grass so hard the breath leaves your lungs in a quick gasp of pain. A bolt of lightning strikes across the sky, and when you look into its eyes you can see that the storm is its doing. Your skin starts to prickle, not from the wind, but from the way it’s looking at you.

 _You are not its mate anymore,_ a voice inside of you screams; and for the first time since it murdered those boys in that trailer, you really do feel genuinely fucking afraid of it.

Something flashes across the clown’s garish face. If your vision wasn’t so blurred you’d be certain that it was pain.

You don’t instigate it. You don’t cry. You just sit there, on the ground, with your palms pressed flat onto the grass behind you in case you need to clamber around and run. 

It feels like an hour before it stops searching your face with its eyes. Nothing else is said as it turns away, heads towards the thickest section of that lead into the forest up in front of you. 

“Do you hate me?” 

The question seems to catch both of you by surprise, hoarse as it tumbles out from between your tear-stained lips.

Pennywise freezes, but you can see the tension between its shoulders slowly dropping. You watch its shoulders stiffen, and it turns its head to show you a dull blue eye.

“No.” It shakes its head slowly, hand pressed flat against the trunk of a tree. “How could I?”

Hurt. That wasn’t what you’d expected to hear, but it doesn’t fucking change anything.

The razor blade behind your eyes is back, only worse now than it was just a moment ago. Getting out every word is a battle against tears, and you know that if you let one fall the others will come right after. You can’t let that happen. You don’t want it to see you cry anymore. 

“Well you should. Because I fucking hate _you.”_

The tip of its hair bounces slightly when it offers you a slight nod. “Don’t come after me.” It murmurs, So quietly you can almost hear it.

You want to ask why on earth it thinks you would ever want to fucking come after it, but you keep your mouth wired shut. Its hand falls from the side of the tree, and just like that, the being vanishes altogether.

With it finally gone, you bury your head in your hands and start to cry. The clouds open up and it rains. It rains, and rains, and rains.


	18. Job

A few weeks ago when Pennywise dumped you the thing you had feared most was finding new things to fill up your time. Fortunately enough for you, you’re able to find that you are still extremely versed in the art of avoiding boredom.

You buy yourself every expansion-pack of The Sims you can afford, spending your evenings trying to get every single sim of child-bearing ability in the town to have one of your babies. Every novel you’ve ever bought that you swore you were gonna read are now finished and lying in a stack on your nightstand— even that weird book that Ted Bundy’s girlfriend wrote about her relationship with him. You watch Kill Bill about a dozen times all the way through to go to sleep every night, and you take up sculpting again during your days off. Mostly you just sculpt a lot of penises, but still. It’s something.

Your house is immaculate. You’ve deep-cleaned it twice already this week, even going so far as to rent one of those carpet-washing machines from the grocery store up the street. You’ve completely redecorated your room with a bunch of shit you found from Pottery Barn and Alien Outfitters. Dozens of tiny cactuses now line your kitchen-counters, and you finally cleaned up the rotting pumpkins from your porch. There’s an unopened party-pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade sitting at the top of your fridge, and every time you grab a bite to eat you stare at it just a little bit longer each time.

The first few days were hard; you won’t deny that. You were in too much disbelief the first night when you got back to your house to really feel much at all, but when you woke up that next morning and remembered that it was gone you could barely make it out of bed. It wasn’t just the pain of its absence; it was the betrayal, and as much as you tried to harden your longing all you could feel was hurt.

It felt like your heart was gone. The place where it used to rest was now black and cold, a gaping hole between the butterfly-wings of your ribcage. Even just existing felt like a burden, like the atoms in your body had been poisoned, and even just breathing and eating and driving to the store felt _wrong._

It was hard for you, and sometimes you catch yourself realizing that it still kind of is. Last night you cried because you accidentally remembered that stupid gum-wrapper commercial where that guy draws pictures of his girlfriend. You can’t leave the horror-movie channel on anymore just to have something playing in the background while you do your laundry. There’s that other side of the bed that doesn’t ever seem to feel any less empty, even when you make a point to sleep right in the middle of it.

But hey. It’s like they always say, you know? Time heals everything. Time healed the pain of your last boyfriend fucking every woman in Derry with a pulse, healed the sound of a handful of human beings being ripped to shreds at a party, and it can certainly heal this. As stupid as it sounds you can’t stop thinking about that South Park quote; “The only way I can feel this sad now is if I felt something really good before.” 

Someday someone will come along, and they won’t ever resent you for what you are. The parts of you that are human, the parts of you that are weak; they’ll love them, all of them, and you won’t ever have to wonder at what point you were suddenly no longer enough.

Either way, you’re certainly in no rush to meet someone new. All you want now is to mend your mangled heart in peace, and try to create a life for yourself that doesn’t make you want to swan-dive off the top of your roof.

Maybe you could get a pet. Maybe one of those little pigs that people swear won’t get over thirty pounds but definitely will. You don’t really know the ethics of miniature pig-breeders, but it’s something that you can hold and pet and feed. You could start working out again— maybe buy an elliptical and rage-run every time you think about how an eldritch shape-shifter humped and dumped you as soon as it started getting too attached to you.

See, that’s the thing that gets you the most. All those times when you told it you loved it you _meant_ it. You _felt_ it. You saw things in it that no human had ever seen before, and you wanted it around you every single second of every single day. 

It left because it didn’t want to fall deeper in love with you, while you were as deep in love as it fucking gets.

Tears start to sting your eyes, and you’re mad at yourself for even bringing any of that shit up again to torture yourself, so you play Zoo Tycoon on your shitty laptop until you’re finally tired enough to lay down for a while before work.

When you open your eyes you’re somehow down in your living room instead of snuggled up tight in your bed. Pennywise is on your couch again; just sitting there, eyes listless and wandering as they stare at the horror movie playing on the screen. It’s all back to the way that it was for so long, so platonic and strange and without any semblance of reason. It’s normal again. It’s just like it was when it first showed up at your house.

A deep gasp escapes from your lungs as you drop to your knees down onto the carpet, and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the realization that everything— all the fucking and loving and fighting and heartbreak and smashed dishes and empty bottles and gloved fingers weaved between your own— was nothing more than a dream. None of it happened. It was all just one of your desperate fantasies.

“Pennywise?”

It turns its head towards you, and it almost looks sad. When it opens its mouth you expect to hear the slithering sound of its vocal cords rubbing together, but are instead met with the most horrible sound you’ve ever heard. Reality slaps back down on you like a fucking anvil, and when you finally realize you’re wake again your chest is already pounding. Your alarm is blaring on your phone right beside your ear, a sheen of sweat settled over every inch of your skin.

What if that was real, how would you feel? Would it be better if it had never wanted you back at all? If you could pretend that none of this had ever actually happened at all?

You’re not sure. You try hard not to think about it as you shower and get dressed for another monotonous Friday at the most boring workplace in all of Maine. 

From the moment you walk into the office you can feel everyone’s nosey little eyes on you as if they were all fucking glued there. You glance down to check and see if you’re accidentally wearing two left heels again, check the back of your skirt to make sure it isn’t pulled up into your thong, and when you can’t find anything out of place you get nervous. Yesterday everything was fine. Even on that day when it was obvious you’d been crying out in your car during your lunch break no one had even cast you a second glance, so whatever the hell is going on today must be _bad._

As soon as you start to pass by the typically closed office of George, your boss, you can see that his door is partially creaked open. It feels like one of those spiders that covers the hole to its lair with debris, waiting for a careless insect to pass over for it to strike. Breath held tight in your chest, you try your best to scurry on by without him noticing, but sure enough a shined toe steps out to stop you in your tracks.

“Can I see you in my office for a minute?”

Your boss is a staunch, half-bald man with gold-rimmed glasses that’s always clapping you on the back way too much for your liking. He’s not flirting, of course, but his breath always reeks of coffee and onion no matter what time of the day it is. He reminds you a lot of one of your great uncles, more silver hair in his ears than he has on his head.

“I uh... Y-yeah. Sure thing.”

The guys from accounting are all huddled up together, giggling like a bunch of school-girls, and you’re certain it has to be about you. Everyone knows something you don’t.

Reluctantly, trying to keep your legs from wobbling and rolling an ankle, you follow your employer into his enormous and cluttered office.

The blinds are all closed. It’s the first thing you notice. George lets out a sigh as he squeezes his ass between the arm-rests of his roller-chair. As soon as he’s fully seated though, there’s a quick knock at the door, and Karen the secretary peeks in her pale little face.

She whispers something you can’t quite hear, and George’s eyes narrow before he softens enough to gives you an apologetic wince.

“I really have to take this.” He presses a finger out towards you, telling you to wait just a minute, looking all but completely out of breath as he pushes himself back out of the chair. 

The heavy door closes behind him with a treacherous bolted-lock sound, like the bars to a prison-cell suddenly slamming shut.

There’s that terrible gnawing at the base of your gut, the same one you used to get as a little girl whenever you were in trouble. You were always getting into something, but it never made sitting in that big wooden chair outside of the principal’s office any easier to stomach. Like that time you shoved all those crickets in your pocket during recess so that whenever the teacher stopped talking they’d all make that ‘chirp chirp’ sound.

Funny. It feels a lot like you’re about to have to face Mean Old Mr. Crowley again.

You can already feel the sweat starting to pool at the backs of your knees, rubbing the side of your neck the way you always do when you feel this stressed out. There’s really no use in trying to calm down. You commit more fireable offenses everyday before noon than most people do their entire fucking careers.

It’s about that time you looked up spider-dicks on your work computer. It has to be about that time you looked up spider-dicks on your computer. It’s definitely about that time you looked up spider-dicks on your—

“Sorry about that.” Your boss interrupts as he gently closes the door to his office behind himself. “Didn’t mean to keep you in here waiting.”

The sound of a busy office floods the room for a moment before the door closes shut again, the sound of keyboards clacking and phones trilling softly in the distance.

You search the lines of the elderly man’s face, and your heart sinks when you find that you can’t read his expression at all. In the past few years that you’ve worked here, not once has George ever been anything more than transparent with you.

Are you above blowing your boss to keep this job? You’re about to find out.

He clears his throat, and just as you’re picturing the walk of shame out of the building, he excitedly informs you about an opening for a new job at their branch in Rutland, Vermont. He tells you that the position is yours if you want it, and when he offers up your new salary without even being prompted it feels like you’re in a fucking dream.

It’s nearly twice what you’re making here, and you were lucky enough to be able to land this job without a college-degree. It’s almost the same exact position as the one you have now, and you finish your work here everyday like it’s fucking kindergarten. Suddenly all you can hear is the beating of your heart, even the clock behind George’s head seeming to slow suddenly down as you listen to the ticking.

Rutland?

Vermont?

Salary?

You?

“I uh... I think that um...”

“Well you have time.” George divulges gently, crossing his arms over the folders on his desk. “You know how much we all love having you around the office,” that’s a lie, “and you’ve been such a productive member of our team, but I think this will be a great opportunity for you moving forward.”

All you can do is blink at him.

“I’ll um... I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

The rest of the day is a blur. Everything after lunch is usually always a blur anyway, but today is especially so. You do your work with an apprehension you haven’t felt since the first day you worked here, and at five when the guys from accounting bid you goodbyes you’re too stunned to even so much as wave back before leaving.

You wander around your empty kitchen for a while, sliding about on your socks as you pace from the refrigerator to the line that crosses out into the living room. It’s almost dark, which means your mother will probably be on her third glass of wine for the evening. If you don’t call now there’ll be no way to hold a serious conversation with her, so you press on her name and wait for her to answer.

“I don’t know what to do,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth as soon as she picks up. “I don’t even... I don’t even know what I can do.”

She’s buzzed; you can tell by her voice when she answers, but she’s lucid enough that you feel secure in sharing your dilemma. You narrate the events of the day in unnecessarily vivid detail, unable to understand why talking about it is making you feel so goddamn sad. Your mother listens silently as you get out everything that you can remember about what George had told you, as soon as you stop talking she’s immediately ready to tell you what you need to hear.

“Of course you should take it.” She answers, with a voice as steady as you’ve heard it in years. “Don’t be a dumb little fuck. Your father and I definitely didn’t raise you to ever say no to making more money.”

Your mouth opens only to snap shut again. You knew it’s what she would say, but a part of you can’t help but feel disappointed that she hadn’t begged you to stay— that she hadn’t told you that you were born and raised in Derry and you have a home here— that you can’t leave, that it’s a bad idea to pack up all your shit a start a new fucking life.

“But... The house...”

The house was always something of a consolation prize for your undeservedly wealthy parents not having to pay for your college, but it was always agreed upon that the deed would stay in their name. That way, if you ever decided to move somewhere else, they would just rent it out from then on.

She reminds you of this, as if you’re a fool for even bringing it up.

There’s no excuse to not go. You know this.

“Go.” She repeats, and you can hear it as she takes another sip of her wine. There’s a smile in her voice when she speaks again, playful and warm and ready to support you in one of the most terrifying chapters of your lives. “Get out of Derry— isn’t that what you’ve wanted since high school? To _go_ somewhere else? To finally _be_ someone else?”

You take a look around the house. Every good memory you’ve ever had here has been painted with the sting of regret, and you know in your heart that staying here isn’t the right thing to do. You can get a new apartment in Vermont and fill it with things that don’t make you want to rip your heart out every time you look at them.

“Take the job, and I swear you won’t ever regret it.”

She tells you that she loves you, and that at the end of the day she’ll still support whatever decision you decide to make. There are tears in your eyes when she finally hangs up the phone, but after she’s gone you can’t help but stare at the list of your contacts.

You scroll past Ricky’s name, and you hit ‘call.’

He doesn’t answer until you’re sure it’s about to go to voicemail.

“What’s up, Stranger?” 

“Nothing really.” Your voice sounds smaller than you remember it being. “Is Jody there?”

“Yeah, why? Somethin’ wrong?”

“No. It’s just uh... I was just wondering.” You pause for a moment, tracing your bottom lip with your thumb. “You guys wanna get fucked up with me tomorrow tonight? I may not be in Derry very much longer.”


	19. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You try to get adjusted.

You walk around the inside of your empty house and you realize, with a sad little laugh, that it feels like the most bitter end to any sitcom you’ve ever seen in your life. The sun is about to set. It paints the living room gold, and even hollowed-out you can’t remember this place ever looking this beautiful during all the years that you’ve been here.

The carpet is bare and riddled with dents from where your furniture used to be. There are four long scratches across the wall that were once covered entirely by the potted plant in the corner, and they’re deep enough for you to know exactly what had to have caused them. About three electrical cords lie stretched out on the floor, and you have no idea what the fuck any of them could have ever been used for.

It’s beautiful, but it feels wrong. Your couch is supposed to be right there, not loaded up into the back of a U-Haul out in the driveway. All your things, all your memories, all the stains you scrubbed out from the bathroom tiles; they’re supposed to be _here._

Everyone’s waiting patiently outside. You said you needed one last moment to say goodbye to the place, but you know it’s not the house you want to say goodbye to. Not really.

“Hey.” Paranoid of being overheard, you try to keep your voice low, just in case someone’s standing out in front of your door.

There’s no answer. You knew that there wouldn’t be, but it doesn’t stop you from saying what you need to say before you leave this town behind.

“I know that uh... I know that all this time has passed... And I’m supposed to be able to say that I’ve moved on but— But I don’t know...”

You cross your arms behind your back, feeling your blood heat up below the skin of your face. Shame gnaws at the pit of your stomach, as it should, but you’ll never be able to forgive yourself if you don’t say ‘fuck it’ and just try. At the very least, you’ll never have to wonder if you could have said something— anything— to change its mind.

“I don’t know if you’re listening to me. I don’t even know if you’re still awake right now but... Fuck, Pennywise. I just... I don’t uh...” The words get lodged somewhere deep in your throat. Tears sting at your eyes, and you try your best to hold them back as you continue on. “If there’s any part of you that still loves me... Or if there’s any part of you at all that wants me to stay... You can tell me. I want you to tell me. Please. Just give me something— anything. Anything at all, and I’ll stay.”

Your eyes widen when you realize what you’ve just said. You’d thought long and hard about what you were going to tell it before you left, but hadn’t realized until the words tumbled out from your mouth that this is what you needed to tell it.

“I’ll undo all of this. I’ll turn down the job, I’ll break my lease, and I’ll stay. I’ll unload everything, I’ll put it right back where it was... And I’ll stay here for you. I’d do anything for you.” Something breaks in your chest, like a cable snapping behind your ribs. You throw a hand up to clutch at the space between your breast and collarbone. “Just give me a sign. Just one little sign, and I’ll—“

When a hand falls gently on the curve of your shoulder, your heart nearly leaps from its chest. Your knees buckle, and you move the palm resting over your chest to lie on top of what is sure to be a silk glove beside your neck.

It jerks suddenly away at your touch. You whip around to face it, and in place of the clown-shaped form you were expecting, it’s just Ricky. You stare up at his face, disappointingly human, and it feels like the air has been sucked from your lungs. You hadn’t even heard him come in.

“The Hell long does it take you to say goodbye to a house?” Rick teases you, before suddenly tensing up once he sees how wet your eyes look. “Oh. Shit are you uh... Are you good?”

“What? No, yeah, Sorry— I am. I just... I thought you were...”

“Thought I was what?”

“It doesn’t matter.” A sad excuse for a smile graces the curve of your mouth. “C’mon, though. Let’s hurry up and get out of here.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Your new apartment is nice. It’s especially so, considering the fact that you never actually went to view it yourself before signing your online-lease. When you arrive the office one of the managers, an absolute cunt of a woman, tells you there’s an issue with your email or something and acts as if you won’t be able to move-in today as expected over it. You’re able to get things straightened out, but you make a mental note to avoid that lady at all costs from now on.

Moving in turns out to be a far easier task than moving out. You ended up giving about half of your shit to your parents so they could store it for you, knowing there’d be no way in hell you’d be able to fit everything in the new place, and you’re surprised at how empty it feels as soon as everyone else is gone.

It smells new, like freshly-laid carpet and the cedar-scent of new cabinets. It doesn’t feel worn or broken-in like the apartment you lived in during your freshman year of college, but you suppose you like it a lot better this way. They forgot to have it cleaned, but after some quick Swiffer-ing and spraying of all the counters, it’s as good as it will probably ever be again.

Empty. You don’t know why that word keeps ringing in the back of your head.

With a shrug, you decide to kick back on your couch and turn on the old Castaway DVD you managed to swipe from your parents. Even under the ache of leaving everyone you know behind, there’s still something vaguely exciting about having a new place all to yourself. After all, you’d only lived in your old house a few months before a malevolent being decided to become your roommate. A wince flashes across your face. Don’t think about that.

You’re barely past the scene where Tom Hanks is tearing open FedEx boxes before your neighbors start to move around in the apartment upstairs. It sounds as if they thought it would be a fun idea to strap on a pair of steel-toes and slam every single piece of furniture they own against the floor, so with a deep groan you pause the movie and decide it’s probably a good idea to head out to the grocery store anyway.

It’s easy to forget you aren’t still in Maine anymore. Everything’s different here, but somehow alike all the same. It’s like looking at a picture that’s been flipped horizontally, and you can’t understand what brought on this horrible wave of home-sickness. After all, you wanted this. You wanted to get away.

The grocery-store here makes sushi, so you grab yourself a couple boxes of tuna nigiri to eat during the scenes where Tom Hanks learns how to spear fish. You fill your cart with snacks and food, feeling an overwhelming need to treat yourself after an emotional day, and even pick up a couple bath-bombs that look almost certain to give you a yeast-infection.

As you’re scanning your items on the self-checkout machine, you randomly start to cry. You don’t know why. You just do. Tears stream black down your cheeks, polluted with your mascara, and you do your best not to make eye-contact with anyone else as you speed-walk out to the parking lot. You don’t stop crying until you’ve made it all the way back to your apartment, and even as you head through the front door you can still feel the urge clawing like nails at the back of your eyes.

You decide to call Jody. You don’t know why you think it’ll make anything better, but as soon as you hear his throaty voice you feel relieved in knowing you were right.

He asks you all about your apartment, and about how you feel being out of Derry for the first time in years. He asks you how you’re doing, and if you’re homesick yet, and after telling him everything is wonderful you break down into tears.

“I just... It hurts so fucking much, Jody. It hurts, but I feel like... I feel like such a little bitch for it. Like fucking Bella from those fucking vampire movies—”

“Twilight?”

“— who lost her will to live just because her sparkly little boyfriend didn’t wanna be with her anymore. This isn’t how I should feel. I should be sad, and then I should fucking move on. It’s just a goddamn breakup, with a guy I knew for less than a handful of years. It shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t still feel like this.”

Jody pauses. You can hear him breathing at the other end of the line, and you realize this is the first time he’s ever had to comfort you in this way. You and Ricky and Jody don’t exactly all wear your hearts on your sleeves around each other, and just when you expect him to tell you he doesn’t know what to say, he finally answers you.

“It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to have feelings. Don’t feel like you have to fight with yourself over them— or that you have to justify whether or not you should feel them.”

“Am I weak?” You ask, sincerely. “Am I so pathetic that I need someone to make me whole?”

“Did you feel like this after Gabe?”

“No, but—“

“Then there you have it. This wasn’t just... some little college fling. This was something most people go their whole lives without ever getting to experience. Your pain is valid. You’re allowed to want him back.”

“When Mick broke up with you...” 

“It got better.” Jody answers quickly. “I didn’t think that it ever would... But it did. That emptiness you’re feeling... That little hole in your chest? It goes away.”

“Swear?”

“I swear. Time heals literally everything. Except like... Really embarrassing stuff. Like that time my mom caught me jerking off to the sex-scene in Step Brothers. I’m convinced that shit is just there to stay at this point.”

You let out a genuine bubble of laughter, wiping away the tears with the fleshy part of your palm. Before you can answer, Jody’s speaking again, voice deeper than you ever remember it being.

“You’re a good person. You’re my favorite person. If anyone can get over some dumbass who was too stupid to see how great they are, then it’s you. I know Ricky doesn’t ever really say it but... We love you, Man, and we’re always gonna be here for you whenever you need us. You don’t ever have to feel like you’re alone.”

The breath leaves your lungs. You smile again, before realizing he can’t see you through the phone.

“I love you guys too. I wish this part would just hurry up and be over with.”

“I know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I ended up breaking the next one up into two parts because it seemed too jumbled altogether, so expect another update (hopefully) within the next few days! Thanks for reading I hope your crush likes you back and all your dreams come true forever


	20. Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You start dating around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can’t believe I’m updating twice in one day!! Rivers are running backwards, dogs are playing with cats,

It takes a lot of hyping yourself up in your bathroom mirror to not feel earth-shaking bouts of anxiety about starting your new job, but after your first day is through with you feel an overwhelming sense of relief. Becoming accustomed to their way of doing things is next to effortless, and you fall into place far faster than you had ever expected. Everyone seems nice enough, and you’re glad to be away from some of the enemies you made in accounting at your old job, but trying to make new friends is harder than you remember it ever being before. It’s like that fire you had once had, the urge to crack jokes and be your old talkative self, is completely and utterly gone. You feel like a different person, and for the life of you you can’t even begin to understand why.

One day someone at work even has the audacity to describe you as “meek,” and you’re pretty sure no one’s ever used your name and that word in the same sentence before in your life. It feels weird, and you’re almost embarrassed at the fact that this isn’t who you really are.

Maybe it’s this place. Maybe it’s the stress of living in a new place surrounded with people you don’t know. Back in Derry you couldn’t throw a rock without hitting someone you had once gone to school with, or fucked, or stalked on Facebook at night when you were bored. But here? Here, it’s a whole new world. Everyone around you is a total stranger again, and you’re just that weird girl who spent nearly two years of her life holed up with an eldritch clown that eats children.

Fuck. You miss your house. You think that even without the memories of your ill-fated romance attached to it you’d still resent moving from a two-story house to a small one-bedroom apartment, but you try your best to break the place in all by yourself.

The carpet isn’t as soft as your old carpet. The sounds are all different than the ones you’ve grown used to. Someone owns a dog in the apartment beside you, and every time anyone walks by the window it howls at the top of its lungs. One night a house-centipede scurries across your kitchen-floor, and you swear to God it’s so big you almost ask it to start helping out with the rent.

It doesn’t take long for the days to start blurring together. Before you even realize it you’re stuck in a monotonous loop, like fucking Groundhog Day, cursed to repeat the same actions again and again and again. You wake up, forget to eat, go to work, forget to eat again, come home, and fall asleep watching Forensic Files on your couch. On your days off you switch things up by watching Forensic Files in bed. You don’t even drink anymore, because the hangovers seem a million times worse than they ever used to before, and you always spend the next day shaking and crying over absolutely nothing at all. For fun you snack on beef jerky and the most foul-smelling pickle-flavored chips you could find. That seems to be the only thing you can really make yourself eat lately, which would definitely explain why you’re not losing any weight despite sometimes going days without even feeling remotely hungry.

You used to think all those people who said they had to physically remind themselves to eat were usually bull-shitting, but now you know firsthand that it’s perfectly possible. It’s not that the things you used to like don’t taste good anymore; it’s that they don’t taste the same, and you always seem to feel full after only a couple of bites.

As weird as it sounds, you really do miss loving to eat. You miss a lot of things though, to be entirely fair. You miss your friends, you miss your parents, you miss Derry, and you miss having someone who cares enough to check in on you every single day.

But to say you still miss Pennywise itself would honestly not be entirely true; not anymore. Jody was right, the hole is definitely gone— even if you still can’t even watch the end of Kill Bill Volume 2 without feeling a terrible pang of loss. It meant a lot to you, and when you were with it you never imagined a day would come when you’d have to move on; but if there is one thing that is certain, it’s that you’ve definitely now accepted the face that you‘ll never be able to see it again.

And that is truly the case, then that’s perfectly fine with you.

It’ll be twenty-seven years before the creature wakes up again. You’ll have gotten married, you’ll be nearing the tail end of your life, and you and might even have children of your own to keep far away from the Penobscot County line. You knew deep down that at some point that it would have to go to sleep again, so maybe it really is the best that it called things off before they went too far.

Were you just supposed to wait for it while it was gone? Stay alone for nearly three decades? Find a man, settle down; fully knowing that your new relationship is a ticking bomb, waiting to end as soon as your real lover crawls out from beneath the sewer?

No, because Pennywise was right. As cruel as it seemed at the time, all of the things that it said were heartbreakingly true. You were never a pair meant to last. Everything the two of you had— it was always going to end in tears.

It only takes about two months of living in Rutland before you finally cave and download Tinder onto your phone. You stare at the app, fingers nervously dancing over the ‘login with Facebook’ box, and you end up deleting it just as quickly as you’d gotten it.

You know without doubt that enough time has passed. You know that it isn’t wrong, that you aren’t somehow betraying the being who left you; but there’s something sour at the thought of trying to replace a being you’d only just recently been able to call your own. You know it doesn’t make sense, and you know you’re allowed to start moving on, but it takes you another two weeks to finally get the nerve to download it again. 

You fill it up with pictures that make you look marginally less attractive than you are, so that no one can ever accuse you of being facetious about your looks. You change your age settings to twenty-seven and up, and you change your bio to “I’m really annoying but sometimes funny please buy me food,” just so people know what you’re really all about.

Even if you know you’re not likely to find ‘The One’ in a sea of shallow pictures and cleverly-crafted biographies, it still gives you something to do in your free time besides watch reruns alone in the dark. You find yourself smiling at some of the messages, and despite the dozens of unsolicited dick-pics you end up receiving, you really do find a lot of men— and a couple of women— that you would definitely love to get to know in real life.

As lame as it might sound, work starts to get easier after you’ve found a few people to flirt with every day over texts and risqué direct-messages. You don’t feel as somber and alone anymore when you watch your coworkers make hundreds of inside jokes right in front of you. Your new boss is a bit of a prick, but when you actually have something to look forward to every day after work, his nasally-voice and stupid toupee become much easier pills to swallow.

Jody and Ricky never cease to bombard you in the group-char with their own horror-stories of online-dating, but after a few weeks you decide to dip your toe in anyway. Caution and potential serial-killers be damned. You just want someone to tickle your hand while you force them to watch all of your favorite movies again.

Your first Tinder-date is a guy who ends up working at the same place as you, though truth be told you can’t remember well enough if you’ve ever seen him anywhere around the office. He isn’t conventionally attractive by any means, but he holds the door for you and does all the things that a suitor is ‘supposed’ to do— based on every shitty article you’ve ever read on the etiquette of dating. He’s sweet, and kind, and he smiles at you will chocolate-brown eyes that shine in the dim light of the restaurant.

Too bad that doesn’t stop you from faking a horrible onset of diarrhea as soon as he’s paid for the check.

Look, it’s not like you’re proud of it. You didn’t intend on running away after a free meal, but again, that still doesn’t stop you from doing it to someone else only just a few days later. Then someone else. Then someone else.

Then someone else.

Before you know it you’ve picked up a bit of a routine. Every time you feel lonely or bored you set up a date, and as soon as they ask if you want to go back to their place you book it out to the parking lot. It’s always a migraine, or a panicked call from Jody with his contact name changed to ‘Dad’, or a worrying stab of pain in the right side of your belly. You never go out with the same person twice, and you definitely never go any further than dessert.

It’s not that you have anything at all against sleeping around, or sharing a bed with someone you hardly know. In high school you used to fuck all of the bullies just so you’d never have to worry about them coming for you, and in college you even had sex with half of your ex’s recreational dodgeball team— just to prove that you could. So, it’s not a matter of treating your body as a temple— because first of all, if your body is a temple then it’s a temple of doom— it’s mainly a matter of just plain not having the urge to sleep with anyone anymore.

You let out a sigh just thinking about it. It’s almost as if all the insatiable urges that once made you who you are are no longer there anymore, and it makes you more sad than you’d ever care to admit out loud. You loved fucking. You loved being mischievous, and making efforts to be the center of attention. You loved drinking, you loved eating— God do you miss eating. You miss it so goddamn fucking much and you’re afraid you’ll never have the urge back again.

One day one of your many Tinder-dates offers to take you to a nice seafood restaurant to buy whatever you’d like, and after you can only eat a couple bites of your lobster you feel fucking awful. He doesn’t even bat an eye at it though. All ginger hair and goofy smiles, he sits and listens as you talk about the time you mistakenly agreed to a party on a Thursday night.

When he asks for the check, you suddenly realize that for the first time since you started doing this, you aren’t ready to dash back out to the safety of your car. You like being around him. You like the feeling you get when he laughs too loudly at your dumb jokes, and you realize, with a bitterness you can’t begin to understand in yourself, that you really don’t want to go back to your apartment alone.

“You wanna follow me back to my place after this? You uh... You don’t have to— if uh... If you don’t want to though.”

“Alright, yeah.” He beams at you, and you catch yourself looking for a gap between his front-teeth. “I want to.”

It takes about thirty minutes after walking through your front door until he’s staring at your lips even when you’re not talking. It takes about forty until he’s reaching out to cup at the side of your face, and you’re climbing onto his lap like a teenager trying to hurry things up before her parents get back home. His lips are thick and soft, and they feel like home when you tug against them with your teeth. His hands wrap around your back, little-finger skimming over the band of your thong, and when he slides his tongue over yours you pull away all at once.

His eyes go wide. He looks so lost as he stares up at you, searching your face, seeming so much younger than he did only just moments before.

“I’m sorry. I just...” Your eyes drop to the floor. “I can’t. I want to. But I just... I just can’t.”

You want to tell him that you’re just not ready, that you want to take things slow and see where they go from here, from the truth of it is that you stopped because he didn’t taste the way you wanted him to. ~~He didnt taste like Pennywise.~~

Chest heaving, hair in a mess at the top of his head; he’s breathless. He lets out a little laugh, free of malice, and gives you a toothy-smile. He tells you not to be sorry at all, and gently helps you climb off of him— all the while telling you the story of the time he discovered a new species of caterpillar when he was playing in the woods as a boy. You smile at him, and your lips feel numb. He’s weird.

You love weird.

When he leaves you tell him to call you, and from the way he nods his head you’re sure that he’s going to. He practically skips all the way back to his car, and you notice for the first time just how tall he truly is now that he’s not sitting down. Something tightens in the pit of your belly. You almost wish you could shout for him to turn around and come back.

All things considered, it wasn’t a terrible date. The last human you found attractive ended up being ripped to pieces by an anthropomorphic spider-alien right in front of you— so you, know. Baby steps.

You shower and get ready for bed, catching yourself humming as you brush your teeth. This time when you put on Kill Bill to go to sleep, you don’t have to turn it off before the ending. The romantic parts— well, as romantic as any part in Kill Bill Volume 2 really gets— don’t make your chest ache in the way that they used to. When at last you fall asleep, you fall asleep smiling.

Things are looking up. Things are getting better, just like your mother and Jody both said that they would. You sleep like a baby, all until a wave of pure agony slices through the pit of your stomach, and you bowl over to your knees in absolute horror.

“Oh God! What the fuck is happening? What the— what the f-f-f—”

Some weird, dark part at the back of your brain is screaming that this is just karma— what you get for using all those guys for food and then pretending to have stomach issues— but you know when the second wave of cramps hit that this isn’t just your body enabling a guilty fucking conscious. Pain like this isn’t something to joke about. Pain like this means something is _wrong._

Maybe you’re about to give birth. Oh fuck, no, stop, it hurts too much to laugh right now.

The muscles in your jaw flex as you clench it shut, gritting your teeth so hard you’re certain they all might crack. Your appendix is rupturing. It’s almost instinctual, the feeling of something readying to burst and break within you. It feels like a bomb readying to go off beneath your stomach, ripping through your abdomen with shrapnel until all that’s left of you is a fantastic pair of legs.

_Holy shit— wait. Is that what happened to Mary Reeser?_

Another wave of agony slashes through your distracted thoughts. This time you let out a scream, more out of fear of what’s happening to you than actual physical pain. That’s not to say that the pain isn’t still there though, because it is, but for a few moments you’re finally able to catch your breath again. By now your hair is all but drenched from room to end. There’s sweat on your forehead, pooling up between the space where your thighs and calf-muscles are pressed together.

Your hands search wildly around for your phone, unable to do anything close to standing up to search for it. At last you’re able to spot it, lying all the way down on the floor beneath the foot of the bed.

“Holy shit this is it. This is how I’m gonna die.”

The pain moves lower, as if it’s suddenly dropping somehow, you can’t help but clutch at the mound of your pubic bone as hard as you can— trying to do anything to stave off the pain. It no longer feels like a rupturing of one of your internal organs, but rather a menstrual cramp from Hell, and you let out a screech that would put a fucking pterodactyl to shame.

All of a sudden it feels like you’re passing something, something big enough around for you to tear from the sheer size of it, and it feels like every part of it is cutting your delicate flesh on its terrible way out. There’s nothing else to do but scream. Maybe if you scream loud enough, someone will call someone and they’ll be able to stop you from bleeding to death on your mattress. The object drops out from your body onto the sheets, and it’s like letting go of the most burdensome load you’ve ever carried. A wave of relief washes over you, and even though the hurt between your legs is still pulsing and radiating out through your groin, you’re certain that the worst of it is now over.

Tears flood your cheeks. After what feels like an hour you’re finally able to move your legs again, and you hobble over towards the light switch to make clear of the horror that has just taken place. Hands shaking, vomit rising up in your throat; you’re certain that as soon as you stumble back to the bed there’ll be a horrible mess of blood and pus in a pool on your covers. There’ll be a calcified tumor lying in the center of it, or some shard of bone that somehow made its way into your uterus. You expect it to be literally anything else than what it is— because on a list of all the fucked up things you expect to find waiting for you as you peer over the edge of the mattress, an egg is certainly not one of them.


	21. Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok first I’m just gonna go ahead and say it because I didn’t mean for it to come off this way even though I COMpletely get why it did: The redheaded Tinder date (Glenn) is not secretly Pennywise whoops. Reader just liked him because he was a weird, tall redhead and she’s actively seeking Pennywise’s characteristics out in other people. I should’ve made that more clear but I am,, so stupid,,, anyways happy reading also this chapter is kind of dark and might be a bit... triggering in a way?

It’s almost like ‘I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant’ and ‘Monsters Inside Me’ had a baby, and then that baby had a fever-dream. There are no words to describe just how far from reality this feels, and you sway on your feet under the pressure of it all. Not once do you do anything more than mouth “What the fuck?” over and over to yourself until you fear your tongue may fall out onto the carpet. Jaw hanging limply open beneath your lips, you stare at the round, foreign object on your bed until the sun rises and bursts forth into the room. 

It’s about the length of your hand from the end of your palm to the tip of your middle finger, and when you squeeze all of your digits together flat it’s about the same width as well. Dark in color, almost black but not quite, the light bounces off it like a slab of charcoal. You don’t dare take a step towards it, but in the bright rays of morning you can see the sandpaper-like texture of the shell, and suddenly it’s no wonder it scraped you so violently on its way out of your body.

A curious hand makes its way beneath the hem of your night-shirt. Shaking, you brace yourself as you check to see how much blood is stained against the inside of your legs, only to find that the worst of it all lies in a pink streak across your covers. You’re sore, achingly so, but laying that thing didn’t seem to do a fraction of the damage you had expected. Teeth clenched through the pain, you press down at the pit of your belly to try and see if you can feel anymore eggs left inside of you. You weren’t able to tell that the first one was even there though. Even after all of the months it must have been forming within your womb, waiting to be laid, you never once felt anything more than a few extra pounds that refused to be shed. Any rational person would immediately schedule a doctor’s appointment, or hell— even go to the fucking emergency room after passing an emu egg without warning. You realize that may soon be something you’ll need to consider, but you decide the most important thing to do right now is to put as much distance between you and this little black time-bomb as possible.

Out of fear of being cut by the sharp outside of its shell— and of worse; causing the monster to hatch— you decide to run out into the kitchen to grab a pair of oven-mitts. Gently, as gently as you’ve ever done anything in your entire life, you move it into the center of your closet and quietly close the door. Now, if it does decide to climb out of the egg, there’ll be at least a couple inches of wood between you and having your face ripped off by dozens of tiny claws.

Next, you grab one of the dining chairs from the living room and shove the frame of it beneath the doorknob. You doubt it’ll make that much of a difference, but it certainly doesn’t hurt your peace of mind. You check the steadiness of the chair one last time to be sure, throw on a pair of sweats, and scream at the ceiling.

  _“Do you truly think it wise for there to ever be more like me?”_

Pennywise had said this to you when you asked it if there was ever a chance that the two of you could ever conceive. Even it had known that its offspring could only ever bring forth chaos and destruction, and as you stare at that nasty red streak on your pretty pastel sheets, and all you can feel is horror.

 _“It will not work.”_ It had told you, and goddamn you for fucking believing it.

Bile rises up in your throat, and you can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth as you fight back the urge to vomit. Fear. Disgust. Abhorrence. Anger.

Your mind wants more than anything else to lash out at Pennywise for putting you through this impossible fucking situation, and right after you’ve just met someone you can see yourself caring for, but you know deep down that there’s no way it was aware that something like this was growing inside of you. As malevolent as Pennywise might be to other humans, it showed you when it left you that if could never truly put you in harm’s way. Whatever lies beneath that horrible shell is something monstrous, you can feel it, and you know your previous lover well enough to be certain if would have never subjected you to this kind of danger.

So, it didn’t know. Maybe it still doesn’t. You’ve never been entirely sure of the limitations of its powers, and whether or not its all-knowingness stretches across the line that separates Derry from the rest of the world.

“It provably doesn’t even know that I’ve just had its—“ You stop yourself. The word dances on your tongue, but it doesn’t feel right. You can’t call it that. You won’t.

To say that you never imagined what having Pennywise’s child would feel like would be an outright lie. You imagined your big, rounded belly; the excitement of your lover and the thrill of becoming parents. You imagined being surrounded by your friends and family, pastel balloons floating around out in the waiting room. You imagined the tuft of orange hair at the top of its bulbous head, two giant blue eyes as it stares curiously up at you for the first time. When you fell in love you pictured what your baby would be like more times than you can count but this? This isn’t a baby. It’s a fucking egg, and it means about as much to you as if you’d found it out on the street outside of your apartment.

It’s like that time you had to get a benign tumor removed from your arm, and the doctor asked if you wanted to see it and after you declined he still showed it to you anyway. It doesn’t feel like you’re looking down through a closed door at a potential infant. It feels like you’re looking down at a part of yourself that was never supposed to be there in the first place.

 

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

The first night after laying the egg is the hardest. Dull cramps, like aftershocks after an earthquake, come to wreak havoc between your hips once you’ve settled down to sleep. Your breasts feel sore, and lying flat on your back feels like something heavy is rested upon your strained bladder.

After one of your many trips to the bathroom, the dull light of the apartment’s fancy thermostat catches your eye. You turn the temperature down as low as you can without worrying about going into debt or breaking your water-pipes. Then, with a sigh of relief, you hobble back quickly into the warm safety of your bed.

It’s not that you’re trying to freeze the egg out so that the embryo doesn’t develop, it’s just... Well, it’s just that you’re definitely trying to freeze it out so that the embryo doesn’t develop. Who cares? After all, what are the chances that this thing is even viable? It’s like a fucking house-cat trying to conceive with a snake— it just doesn’t fucking work. There’s nothing inside of that egg, and even if there is, the chances of it surviving without you knowing what the hell you’re supposed to be doing with it are slim.

So, you know. Plausible deniability, or whatever it’s called. You can’t be blamed for not caring for it in the way that you’re supposed to. It’s not like this thing exactly came with a fucking instruction-manual attached to it.

You roll over onto your side and squeeze your eyes shut tight. Every little sound that comes with the settling of the apartment and the neighbors moving around upstairs makes you flinch, so you dig your fingers into your ears and pray for sleep.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Soon a day comes where you need to get into your closet to find some new work clothes. You stress and worry over it for hours, pacing up and down your floor until at last a small sliver of courage courses its way through your veins.

As quietly as you can, you pull out the chair beneath the knob, and slowly creak the door open towards you. It’s like lifting a cup after you’ve just caught a giant spider beneath it. You have no idea if this thing has hatched yet, or if it’s going to spit venom at you as soon as you turn on the light. Breath held tightly in your chest, you peer inside, and feel your heart drop immediately down into the pit of your belly.

To your horror, the egg is somehow much bigger than it was when you locked it in here. It’s as if the shell has expanded along with whatever is growing inside of it, multiplying nearly four times its original size. You can feel the sweat pooling at the back of your neck, intestines twisting up into knots, and after you grab your skirt and blouse you hold the door shut by the weight of your back.

What if it keeps growing bigger? What if it _is_ just like Pennywise, and as soon as it comes cracking its way out it decides to consume the entire fucking city? What if it isn’t as easily satisfied as its father, and decides eating a few children in a small town like Derry isn’t enough to fulfill it? What if it makes the entire planet its hunting grounds, and you have to live with knowing it was your own stupidity that brought forth the end of the world?

You bury your face in your hands. If you threw it away, would anyone ever really know?

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Another week passes of stalling before you get the brilliant idea to lock the egg in a cage. It seems so practical, being able to keep an eye on it, and you’re surprised you weren’t able to think of it before.

There’s a pet-store about a mile out from your apartment, and you stop there on your way home from work. You fight your way through the squawking of birds and pungent stench of urine-soaked bedding to the sturdiest crate you can find, giving it just enough room to grow a little larger. Surely something around the size of a chihuahua won’t be able to break through even if it hatches, and there’s nothing quite like the feeling of having your peace of mind again.

Back home the transfer process goes smoothly, and you shove that thing into the back of the cage as quickly as you can. You decide to keep it up on an end table in your living room so you can watch it during the day. You cover it with one of your spare sheets, and pray to God the gradual growing stops before you ever have to do this again with a bigger enclosure. Relief washes over you at last, and you slump down onto your couch with a pitiful sigh. 

It’s about a five and a half hour drive to Derry, and boy do you fucking consider it. You think about packing the newly caged egg up and dropping it right at the Penobscot County line, making it Pennywise’s problem instead of yours, but in all honesty you don’t think it’s safe to drive knowing that thing could hatch at any minute.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

None of this is fair. Pennywise gets to just keep living its life without fear, never having to worry about anything other than itself. When it wakes up again from its languorous sleep it can find a new girl to have sex with, and only have to worry about scaring and eating and fucking until at last it’s time for it to go to sleep again. But not you, though. _You_ have to worry about letting loose an actual monster onto the world and having it rip your throat open during your sleep. This isn’t supposed to be your problem. You’re supposed to be able to move on, the way you’re sure Pennywise has been able to move on. Blood heats up your cheeks, and you feel a sudden rush of jealousy and embarrassment.

 _It can find a new girl to have sex with._ Your own words ring out again and again in your head. _Maybe it already has. Maybe it’s slaying poon all over Derry while I’m sitting here alone in my apartment baby-sitting a fucking demon egg._

Hurt, you slide your phone out from the pocket of your sweatpants and try to remember the name of that Tinder date whose calls you’ve been ignoring. Glenn, that was it. You text Glenn, and you ask him to come over and drink for a while.

You don’t fuck him. You want to, kind of, but you’re afraid to risk doing anything so soon after passing that thing. Also, you really do think you like this guy, and you’re scared that doing anything more than make out on your sofa and shotgun 4Lokos will somehow ruin the delicate balance of things.

Everything is fine. This is fine.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Is this an ostrich egg?”

The sound of Glenn’s voice makes you rise from the couch, head pounding and vision blurred with exhaustion. It’s morning, still early, and you have to physically drag your feet as you move to stand near him.

 “I told you not to mess with that.” You growl back at him, voice still deep and gravelly from your alcohol-induced sleep.

The redhead grins, taking his focus off of the egg for only a moment before looking right back down at it.

“There’s a mysterious cage covered with a blanket in your apartment, and you think I’m not going to try and look inside of it?” His dark eyes light up as he tilts his head to the side. “Where’d you even get this?”

A beat of silence passes.

“Someone gave it to me.”

“Ah.” Glenn muses, somehow satisfied with your answer. Then, “What are you gonna name it?”

You jerk your head to glare at him, as if he’s just asked you the most ridiculous question in the world.

“Why the hell would I name an egg?”

Glenn shrugs.

“I mean... It won’t be an egg forever.”

“Yeah.” You nod, and pull the sheet back up to cover it. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”


	22. Cumsprite

It takes so long for the egg to hatch that in the last week or so of it not growing any larger, you almost even forget that it’s even there. You’ve made a routine of coming home, kicking off your shoes, and tossing your keys onto the blanket-covered cage without ever giving it even a word of greeting. It’s only today, when the key makes a dent in the sheet instead of resting flat over the bars, that you finally realize something is _wrong._

A shaky hand reaches out towards the fabric and slowly pulls it away. You know what you’re about to see, but the sight of it still sends a bolt of terror into your core when you find that the top bars of the crate have been completely chewed open.

So yeah, this is actually happening. You had prayed your ass off that this day would never come, but you were smart enough to prepare for it anyway. There’s a brand-new knife in your purse, pink and beautifully engraved with the word ‘bitch’ on it, and you tear it out as fast as you can. A trembling arm holds it out in front of you as you back yourself up against the door.

One time, when you were at an art-program for the summer, a bat got loose in your room. It had panicked, slamming itself up against the ceiling, and you remember thinking it had sounded like it was being shocked by an electric fence as it flapped its wings against the screen to escape. The high-pitched screech that came out of its tiny fanged mouth was ungodly. In all the years you’ve been alive you’ve never heard another sound like it, until _now,_ in the hallway by your room. You can’t see it, not yet, but you can hear it as clearly as the blood roaring in your ears.

Common-sense tells you to just open the door up and run. Say “fuck this shit” and bolt across the parking lot to the safety of your car. The last time you saw the egg it still hadn’t outgrown its cage, so surely whatever was in it couldn’t be strong enough to pummel through the inches of wood it would take to come after you. But then again, it did manage to chew through the metal of its cage, so maybe dipping out of the apartment wouldn’t do that much good after all.

Oh fuck, this is it. You can hear the thrumming of little feet, and for a split-second before it finally reveals itself you wonder if perhaps the egg had held more than just one life form inside of it. Then it steps into the light of the kitchen, and the sound suddenly makes more sense than you’d like it to.

Six fur-covered legs extend out from its spine. They click across the linoleum, unnatural movements that look more like a marionette than a real living thing. Its head jerks up to look at you, eyes black and soulless. Your heart rises up in your throat, and when it bares its teeth back over its lips you can’t stop the urge to vomit. It spills out of your mouth in a violent cough. You try to stifle it as much as you can with the back of your hand as your shoulder blades crack against the wood behind you. 

It doesn’t look like you. Hell, it doesn’t even look like _Pennywise._ It looks like something that should never have been given the chance to exist, and as you back up against your door in fear, you can’t help but feel cheated.

“I—I have a— I-I-I have a knife!” You warn it, as if it can somehow understand what the fuck you’re saying.

You grip the handle until your knuckles turn white, holding it out in an obvious display of warning. A soft, clicking sound rumbles to life in its throat. It cocks its head to the side, curious, studying the serrated blade as it comes in even closer.

“Get back!”You shout at it, like the way you’d shout at the family dog when it won’t stop pawing at your leg. There’s no heat to it, only panic and fear, and you pray to God this thing doesn’t have its father’s sense of smell.

Its eyebrows— or where its eyebrows would be if it had them— furrow together as it reels its neck back. There must be something in the way you’ve squared your shoulders, thinking maybe you look larger now than you did before. It does an odd little hop backwards on the less arachnid-shaped legs beneath its torso. Its arms drop to its sides, and you can tell that it sees you as a far bigger threat to _it_ than it possibly is to you.

A beat passes. Neither of you make a sound. An odd, wordless understanding passes between the two of you; that you are undeniably the boss in this fucked-up display of dominance. You take another harsh, meaningful step towards it. It hops back again, and a wave of relief washes over you so hard you can feel your goddamn knees buckle.

There’s no denying the fact that the little demon-creature in front of you is a carnivore. The talons on its hands and feet are as deadly as it gets, and when it opens its mouth to chirp at you again you can see the pointed rows of fangs behind its lips. If it isn’t hungry yet, it will be. You’d like to get something in its belly before it realizes you’d probably be pretty easy to eat if it really needed to.

“You uh... You hungry, you little... thing?”

It blinks at you. 

“Yeah. You don’t uh... You don’t speak. I’m an idiot. But um... Wait.” You narrow your eyes. “Who the fuck taught Pennywise how to speak? Did he just, figure it out? Shape-shift his way into a fuckin’ English class? Like, the clown’s not just spurtin’ off a bunch of nonsense like a parakeet or whatever. Motherfucker _knows_ what he’s saying.”

Again, the hatchling doesn’t answer you. It doesn’t even flinch or gesture to give you a sign that it know you’re trying to convey something to it. Your shoulders drop, and you let out a weary sigh.

You were going to try and make chicken piccata for dinner, but you guess not having your face ripped off by a hungry monster-ling is worth the waste. Slowly, never once breaking eye-contact with the tiny being in front of you, you shuffle sideways over towards the fridge.

“I don’t know how you feel about mostly-thawed chicken, but uh... this is all I’ve got really. I’m just gonna,” you pause to gulp, “put my knife down for a second to um, to just cut this package open real quick and then we— Nope don’t move! See? I’m all done. You just uh... Just stay right over there and I’ll... I’ll just gently toss this over to you.”

The pink, fleshy slab of meat lands with a soft plop down against the kitchen floor. It isn’t as close to it as you would have liked, and when it closes the distance towards you the air gets stuck in your throat.

It sniffs the offering with caution, grey-white nostrils flaring wildly as it inspects every inch of it that it can without touching it.

“You know, if this turns out to be one of those situations where you crave human flesh so I have start murdering random people, then I’m sorry but you’re shit out of luck.” You shake your head at it, your teeth bared in a subconscious grimace. “I’ll drop you off in a forest or some shit. I don’t care.”

To your relief the hatchling finally leans down to take a corner of the breast between its jaws, flashing row after row of serrated teeth. They slice through the meat with an ease that makes you gulp and take another step back away, but it’s almost impressive— the power in those tiny little jaws. If it were really your child instead of some ghastly little cumsprite, you could almost see yourself being proud.

It scarfs down the breast like a wolf with a steak. You toss it another from the package, notice the trilling purr in its chest as its tosses its head back to let the meat slide down its throat.

Ugly. That’s the only word that comes to mind when you stare at it. Ugly, and maybe equal parts frightening. It’s frightening in the way the leprechaun from that one old scary movie is frightening, in that its skin and face are so unnerving to look at that size doesn’t even play a factor. You might have been biased because well— because reasons— but you never once looked at Pennywise’s favorite shape and saw anything less than beauty. It was its size that got to you, but not this little thing. This thing could be the size of your thumbnail, and you still wouldn’t want to know it was even in the same fucking city as you.

It kind of reminds you of the human-hybrid from Splice, except, not really at all. Its skin is different— almost like the smooth, wet look of a shark’s back when you first pull it onto the dock. It looks like rubber, but something tells you if you run your hands across it all you would feel is sandpaper.

The only similarity you can see to Pennywise is the massive expanse of its skull in proportion to its small face and body, and if you squint your eyes you think they may even have the same ears. Even so, it’s still not enough of a similarity for you to see it as anything more than something that shouldn’t have been allowed to exist, and as you toss down the second to last piece of chicken, all you can do is cry.

It shouldn’t be here. It shouldn’t even be _breathing,_ but more importantly it shouldn’t be _here,_ in the heart of Rutland Vermont. It’s like holding a box of anthrax in your apartment. There’s no telling the damage this thing could do if it ever got out. There’s only one place you can think of to drop it off at to try and spare as much havoc as you can, and that’s right at the edge of Pennywise’s lair.

Maybe this thing is like its father. Maybe it’ll only take a few lives a year, and spend most of its time curled up beneath a trash heap. Maybe it’s just as refrained as Pennywise surprisingly manages to be, and if it isn’t?

Well, you suppose that‘ll just have to be Derry’s problem then. They’ve been dealing with one flesh-eating horror for centuries. What’s one more? Your parents are about to move to Somerville anyway, and there’s not a soul you care about there besides Jody. _Maybe Ricky,_ and adults don’t exactly seem to be on the menu of whatever species this thing is made up of.

You clear your throat as the last breast lands hard against the floor.

“Better eat up, buddy. You and I’ve got a long-ass trip ahead of us soon.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh... Yeah, the hatchling did NOT make a good impression on ‘Reader.’ She’s shallow and resentful and definitely doesn’t consider it as ‘related to her’ in the slightest. But anyways, where is the trailer for It: Part II because I’m withering away without it. There’s only so much Pennywise content to devour and my body needs MORE. Holy shit do you guys ever think about how like, Pennywise didn’t really have a fuck-ton of scenes in the 2017 version (as the clown) and some of us are all mostly just writing based off of only a few spoken lines and interactions? Like I know THIS fic is pretty (really) wildly out of character for what we were shown in the film (I’m just tryna have a good time y’all) but in TTBF I tried so so hard to keep him true to his nature and dialogue in Part I and I just wonder if Part II is gonna show us stuff that makes us kind of rethink our perception of Pennywise. Like what if he says some curveball shit we never would have written him saying or actions we wouldn’t have written him doing. I’m explaining this badly, but maybe you can get what I mean. Anyways bye love u hope all your dreams come true forever


	23. Lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The IT part 2 trailer is here and I saw an ad for it on Instagram and one of the top liked comments was “Ugh this film did NOT need a sequel” lmfao fuck me

Getting the creature to Derry ends up being far easier said than done. Even when you buy a much stronger cage the little demon absolutely refuses to get inside of it, and you’re definitely not about to have a loose-panicked-cat-in-a-car scenario on the fucking interstate. This thing has two claw-bearing hands, six pointed tarantula legs extending from its spine, two velociraptor legs with razor-sharp talons, and a mouth full of flesh-ripping fangs. You’re even convinced that it’s grown a little bit since the other day when it hatched. There’ll be no fighting this thing off if it decides to lose its shit once you hit the main road.

And to make things even more complicated? You don’t even know if this thing has powers yet. What happens if you’re driving and it suddenly decides to conjure up a swarm of bees in your car? Or what if it reveals that it can shape-shift into a goddamn silverback while you’re parked at a gas station? It’s nearly a six-hour-drive to the heart of Derry. If you’re going to make it through this trip alive, you had better fucking prepare.

So, as much as you fucking hate having to put the journey off, you decide it best to wait about a week to see whether or not it shares any of the abilities of the being from which it was spawned. 

You still haven’t touched it with your bare hands yet. You’re afraid that its skin might be poisonous, that the sheen on its naked body might hurt you if it absorbs into your pores like some kind of deadly tree-frog situation. Come to think of it, its skin really does look amphibious. As you stare at it while it putters around your living room floor, you’re sure to pull your feet up onto the couch with you when one of its long limbs gets just a little too close to your toe. 

“You know what having you here kind of reminds me of?” 

The hatchling stops what it’s doing, turns to look up at you. It doesn’t understand what you’re saying, but it’s aware enough to know that you’re addressing it.

“A couple years ago I uh... I found this black widow on my ceiling. I didn’t have anything to kill it with, so I just kind of had to keep my eye on it and pray to God it didn’t bite me in my sleep. This is a lot like that, I think.” 

There’s a moment of silence as you stare into its soulless eyes. It lets out a creepy little chitter, and in turn you let out a sigh.

It doesn’t like you. You can feel it, like your ex’s cat that always gave you a weird vibe and hissed at you whenever the two of you were alone. All this thing seems to know how to do is eat raw meat, and screech, and shit all over the carpet, and be weird, and show absolutely no sign of anything other than frightening arachnida instinct. The first night that it was with you, it caught and ate a house-centipede as it went skittering across the floor. This, and having watched it scarf down a package of raw chicken, only reinforced the idea that this thing is nothing more than an animal. It is an ugly, gruesome little abomination; here to serve no other purpose than to take away your peace of mind. 

One more night, you tell yourself with your fists clenched. Just one more fucking night, and this thing is out of your hair for good.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When morning comes you couldn’t be anymore relieved. You’re up before the alarm even goes off, watching the morning light bloom into the darkness of your room. Everything is all planned out. You’re going to corral it into its cage while wearing a sweatsuit, face mask, helmet, and pair of oven-mitts just to be safe. You bought a package of nice, juicy raw steaks yesterday evening at the grocery store, which is sure to keep it occupied as you carry it inside of the crate out to the car. You’re going to lay down the back seats, slide it inside, and zoom your ass back to Maine like there’s no mañana.

You’ll be back by Saturday evening for sure. You can invite Glenn over, obliterate some stuffed-crust pizza together, get your pussy eaten out on your couch for the first time in ages, and never have to think about aliens or clowns ever again for the rest of your life. You’ll be a person again. You’ll be normal. You’ll be happy.

The sound of a high-pitched squeal lets you know that the hatchling is awake. With one last deep breath, you swing your legs over the side of the bed to get things going.

“If you’ve got any powers, now’s probably a good time to let me know.” You tell the creature, after finally getting it locked up inside of the cage. “If I crash my car, you crash too.”

The thing pauses, red meat clamped between its teeth, then promptly resumes tearing bits and pieces off to gulp down.

A stray thought crosses your mind— something you hadn’t considered before— that maybe instead of raising this thing as its own, Pennywise will eat it instead. Not once did the being ever show any real interest in becoming a parent. It had never mated with any of its own kind before, even if it did claim to be the last of its species. If it had known there was any chance that it could expel its egg into a human, or however the absolute fuck that thing got inside of you, you’re certain it wouldn’t have jizzed inside of you at all. And if it doesn’t want this hatchling to have ever existed, and it doesn’t want to raise it, what could possibly be there to stop it from having a nice infant-sized snack? 

Either way, the idea brings out nothing more in you than a shrug. Maybe it would almost be an act of mercy. It’s dark, sure, but does a creature like this really have any business being alive in the first place? After all, it will never find a mate. It will likely never learn how to communicate, or what its place is in the universe. It has no natural predators or prey, and it will mature feeling at odds with every single organism and object around it.

But oh well. If that clown-creature does decide to eat it, you’re in no way responsible for its death. Yeah, that’s right. You nod to yourself, feeling satisfied with that. If Pennywise eats this little shit, it’s definitely not your fault. 

“Alright. This is it.” You tell the hatchling like a warning, making eye-contact through the bars of the cage. “I’m gonna go put my purse and shit out in the car, then we’re ready to hit the road.”

When you’re halfway out through the door, you almost catch yourself telling it that you’ll be back to grab it in a second. As it matters. As if it even cares.

It’s a lot hotter outside than you’d expected. Some little girl is jumping rope outside of her apartment, little parking-lot birds fluttering and swooping around the cars as you head out toward your own. It is a perfect summer morning, but when you see the state of your now-slashed tires, it feels like a fucking nightmare.

All four of them. Right there beneath your car, slashed to ribbons and inflated like a bunch of gray-black fucking balloons. A laugh escapes your chest, jaw hanging open in sheer disbelief. This is real. This has actually happened. Someone slashed your fucking tires, on the weekend you were supposed to dump that monster in your home back in Derry where it belongs.

You drop down to take a seat on the parking block behind you. Fingers pressed against your temples, you sit and you stare at your useless vehicle until the shock starts to fade out.

Some immature and imaginative part of your mind wants to think that this is the work of Pennywise itself, but you know that’s just not fucking true. And when your eye spots the underneath of the car parked beside you, you know this wasn’t an act of vengeance by one of your manipulated Tinder dates either. There are about four other vehicles in this lot whose tires have been slashed. This was just one of those things, some shitty act of teenage cruelty, but as you hold your face in your hands, it feels like the entire fucking world is laughing at you.

Sometimes a little self-pity is allowed. You wouldn’t wish what you’re going through right now onto anyone who’s ever hurt you. It’s an impossible fucking situation, one that scares you and hurts like a mother all at the same goddamn time.

Every time you look at that hatchling, you see betrayal. You see the fact that Pennywise doesn’t have to deal with any of this. Not the pain of losing something it once loved more than anything in the world. Not the physical and mental trauma of passing something out of its body without even knowing what’s happening. Not the horror of rearing its demonic spawn after you’ve been trying your best to move on. Not any of this. Not one goddamn thing, but here you are feeling your heart and cunt torn apart again and again and again.

You’ll get your car fixed, sure. You’ll be able to try this again, maybe even by next weekend. But right now? Nothing has ever hurt as much as it does in this moment, under the sun, teary-eyed out in the parking lot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this story:’) I swear it has a point lmao like shit really is about to come all together. Noho Hank voice: “It’s about to go off.” Lmao no but really thank you guys all so much for your comments and everything, someone even made a playlist for this fic and my heart grew a million sizes. :) have a great dayyy byyye


	24. Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some content in this chapter that might make you uh... not feel so great

At long last your car is finally fixed again. This comes as an utter blessing to you, due to the fact that for the entire past few days of housing the hatchling, it has done nothing else but fucking _scream._

You don’t know if it’s out of frustration, or boredom, or just the simple fact that it’s a young thing that’s finally discovering the full extent of its vocal cords, but by the time the weekend arrives so that you can take its little ass back to Derry, you’re positive that one more night will be the death of you. All the shitty headphones and ibuprofen in the world aren’t enough to make this thing tolerable.

And by scream, you don’t just mean a tiny little elated shriek of a happy child. You mean an all-out air raid siren, sounding out right in the middle of your goddamn living room, and there’s not a single thing you can do to get it to stop.

But hey, second time is always the charm, right? Your car is as good as new. The creature goes into the crate just as easily as it did the last time, and it doesn’t even writhe about or try and claw at you as you carry it out to the laid-down backseat of your car. It screams, sure, but thankfully enough none of the other tenants are around to stare at you.

This is it. You grin to yourself like a madwoman as you climb up into the car. Hair a wild mess, mascara smudged around the hollows of your eyes, you almost jerk back in shock when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You don’t even look like yourself, but it’s whatever. Just a handful of hours driving, and this monster will be out of your life forever.

You shove your key into the ignition, but when you turn it nothing happens. It worked perfectly when you picked it up from the shop. It’s only now, when you’re just about to leave for Derry, that your car decides to just stop fucking working.

A deep breath is all the solace you can find. You close your eyes, hands dropping down into your lap, and you scream for what feels like a solid thirty seconds. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

You decide the best course of action is to try and find another ride. You know you can’t risk asking either one of your parents. You and your old coworkers never really got along, and Glenn would definitely never be able to understand any of this, but maybe Ricky or Jody would. Probably Jody.

After locking yourself in the bathroom and shoving a towel beneath the door to try and drown out the absolute ear-torture from Pennywise’s spawn, you decide to call him up. You start right out of the gate with an offer of three-hundred dollars to pick you and an exotic pet up, drive you to Derry to drop it off, then take you back home again. It might seem like a lot of money, but you’re honestly willing to go a lot higher. It’s certainly for a good enough fucking cause. 

This is when Jody sadly discloses that his own car has also just died on him, and he has no one else’s that he can borrow. He then tells you not to even bother trying Ricky. Apparently Ricky’s parents have just kicked him out without letting him have ‘his’ car that’s still listed under their name, and he’s holed up in Jody’s apartment for an indefinite amount of time. You thank Jody anyway, and slink down to the floor as you hang up the phone. 

At this point, there’s really no way for you to fight the creeping suspicion that maybe this is all somehow Pennywise’s doing. Maybe it doesn’t want this thing either, and as you grimace at the sound of one of its loudest shrieks yet, you can honestly understand why. 

This just isn’t at all what you had expected when you moved out here to try and start a new life. You wanted to be yourself again, and try to make new friends, and build a routine for yourself that didn’t make you want to rip your hair out every single day. Because whether Pennywise meant to or not, it flat out lied to you. It told you that something like this could never even possibly happen, yet there’s the truth right outside your fucking door.

It feels a lot like betrayal, and for some reason it makes all of this that much worse to bear.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

If the screaming weren’t bad enough on its own, you’re now _delighted_ to find that this thing is now hitting a bit of a growth spurt. What was once about the size of what you’re pretty sure would have been a young cat is now the size of, well, what you guess would probably be a one-year old. You aren’t really sure, since you can’t even remember the last time someone made you spend time around a baby.

All you know is that its newfound size is an absolute fucking nightmare. It never uses the pee-pads that you’ve so graciously laid out for it in the laundry room, and at this point your carpet is just fucking _ruined_. The smell alone is enough to make you fight back vomit, if the hours spent scrubbing down on your knees weren’t bad enough as it is. 

But worst of all? Its claws have gotten longer, which means it now feels very much inclined to test them out. One day you come home to find that it has chewed to pieces nearly every pair of shoes in your apartment, opened the fridge to tear apart every scrap of meat it could find and— oh, would you look at that. Buried deep in the wall right as you walk through your door, are four long and very deep gashes where its its talons have gored across the drywall.

“Holy shit.” You drop your keys, purse, wallet, everything down onto the floor as you raise your hands to bury them in your hair. “I can’t— I can’t fucking do this anymore.”

Sleep-deprivation makes it feel like your brain is on fire, a drunken fever that you can’t seem to fight off anymore. Your arms are shaking, knees wobbling out beneath you as you look around at the abysmal state of your once brand-new apartment.

At the sound of your voice, the hatchling comes creeping out towards you on its many legs. Typically the sight of it looking so unbothered would only be enough to annoy you, but tonight it’s enough to send you into a fucking rage. It blurs your vision, darkens your face into a deep scarlet.

You don’t want this thing. You didn’t ask for this thing. It just shouldn’t be your burden and your burden alone to bear! You can’t ask for help! You can’t drop it off in front of a church, or leave it at your parents while you try your best to get a good night’s sleep and decompress. You have to worry about it killing you, and every single thing around you. It’s obvious to you now that all this thing knows is destruction and consumption, but still you just have to keep fucking suffering it, and at this point you really don’t know how much more you can take. 

“I hate you.” It’s hardly even audible, and you know it doesn’t even understand what you’re saying, but it feels good to get it out. “I hate you.” You repeat, a little louder this time. Your chest starts to heave. “I hate you... I fucking _hate_ you.”

The last one catches its attention. It looks up at you with those dead eyes, still chewing on a rubber sole from your favorite pair of shoes, and tilts its head over to the side. 

“Don’t fucking look at me like that, you fucking little... _demon.”_ You tilt your chin up at it, balling your hands up into fists at your sides. “I said what I said. I hate you. I _hate you,_ and I’m so fucking sick of feeling nothing but hate and stress and hurt!”

The monster opens its mouth, and it’s no shock to you that all that comes out from its throat is a deafening scream. The sound is like a knife to the eardrums. It boils your blood, and before you can even really think about it your hand goes out to the end table beside you. 

There’s an empty six-pack of bottles resting near the little lamp by the door. You’ve long given up on trying to clean, since every time you do the creature comes and shits and pisses all over the place right afterwards. More often than not anymore you send yourself off to sleep with enough alcohol to put your previous self to shame, trying to do anything to muffle out the shrieks it makes at all hours of the night. Your hand wraps around the neck of one of those bottles, and you send it crashing against the back corner of your apartment with a furious roar.

“Stop fucking screaming!”

The impact doesn’t come anywhere near the creature, not even close. Even in your rage you would never do anything like that to intentionally harm it, but when it scrambles behind the couch in horror to get away from you, you can’t help but feel a sick sense of pleasure. The creature squeals like a frightened pig, sliding the entire sofa out as it desperately tries to hide. 

You storm to your room. There’s no reason for you to have to stare at the rubble of your living room anymore, or the monster that caused it, so you slam your door behind you so hard that the frame rattles.

It still isn’t dark yet, but you drop yourself face down onto the bed anyway. You didn’t even notice you had been crying, but you suppose that’s because that’s all you ever seem to do anymore. You bury your head down into your pillow, and you pray to whatever the fuck is out there to hear you that this thing would just fucking disappear.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

You wake with a start, drool staining your sheets and a film of sweat covering the length of your body. The sun has long dipped below the horizon, you’re sure of it, and your head aches with the pain of a too-long nap you hadn’t intended to take. 

Joy. There goes your sleep schedule for the next few days.

A groan falls from your lips as you try and stretch out the stiffness from your spine. You can already feel your stomach rumbling, and you know before even checking your phone that it’s far too late to think about ordering delivery. No one else is around to see it, but you give yourself a shrug anyway. Maybe there’ll be a bag of chips in one of the cabinets that the monster didn’t manage to get to. And if not, at least it’ll be an excuse to take a trip out to the gas-station.

Nearly all of your anger from before has fizzled out into nothing, but you try not to reignite it by hanging around staring at the state of your living room. All you have to do is turn your lights on, make a quick dash to your kitchen to grab some Funyuns, and hurry back to your room to binge Golden Girls on your laptop. It’s fine. Just don’t look at the damage, and everything will be fine. 

That’s how problems usually work, right? You just ignore them, and eventually they go away? That, or get bad enough to ruin your entire life, you guess, but whatever. It’s _fine_.

You turn on the light to the living room. When you see that the little doggy-bed you supplied for the creature is empty, you slow and soften your footsteps until they’re nearly completely silent. It must have fallen asleep behind the couch, and you’re in no mood to accidentally set off its screaming again.

Creeping into the kitchen, you’re about to reach out and turn on the light by the hallway when you realize the light to the oven is still on. Your toe hits the place where carpet meets linoleum, and a macabre sight stops you dead in your tracks. 

Lying face-down in the middle of your kitchen floor is the hatchling, and even as you stand there with your breath held tight in your chest, it doesn’t move a single muscle. It doesn’t squeak. It doesn’t breathe. Even when you take another cautious step towards it, it doesn’t give you a single sign that it’s alive.

You don’t understand the horror that’s rising in your throat. Maybe it’s because seeing something dead, no matter what kind of creature it is, has always filled you with an overwhelming sense of dread. You had thought you’d feel indifferent if anything like this ever happened while it was still here, but seeing its little body lie lifeless on the floor like this is a fucking gut-punch. A wave of nausea slaps through your body. You can’t tear your eyes away, but when— Oh shit.

Out of nowhere the hatchling takes a deep, ragged breath. It makes your whole body jerk as you watch it, having been certain from the way its many legs were all flat against the floor that it was dead. A vague realization clicks; that it isn’t dead or dying, but is instead hurt and distraught. It looks like it’s just given up, sprawled out in front of the fridge like something that’s been thrown carelessly away. 

A coal-black eye slowly opens, wet with tears, and at first you don’t register the unfamiliar sound when it comes out from its mouth. 

The little creature? It’s _crying._

“Oh my God.” 

Something is very wrong. You drop down to a crouch, hand shooting out beneath the hatchling’s body to cradle its head. When you lift it up you can see it, the dried blood on its body, and a stab of sympathetic pain hits you so hard that you wince. It’s smeared all across the linoleum beneath it like a streak of red paint. There’s a shard of glass in its hand, and an even bigger one buried pretty deep in its knee.

It flashes before your eyes, the memory of that bottle you threw when you got home from work. You didn’t even think about it cleaning it up before you stormed off to bed.

“Oh my God, I’m— I’m so sorry I—“ Floundering for words, your eyes are wide and bouncing all throughout the room around you. “I didn’t even think about you stepping on the glass and I’m— Oh my God I’m so fucking _stupid.”_

As gently as you possibly can, you lift the creature up with you as you stand up onto your feet. It’s still crying, snot bubbling in the tiny holes of its nostrils, but it doesn’t fight against you all. Somehow that makes it worse, the fact that something that was once so wild and full of life now seems completely overcome with pain and with grief. It’s limp and heavy in your arms, just hanging there.

“Here. You’ll— I s-swear you’re gonna be okay. It’s just a little— Just a little flesh wound right? You’re okay. I’m an adult and I’m— I’m gonna make this all be okay.”

You don’t even notice until you set the little thing up on the counter that you’ve been touching it this entire time with your bare hands. The realization makes you falter for a moment, freezing as you stare into its face. You shake the thought away, and instead focus on reaching up to the medicine cabinet above the stove.

“Don’t move.” You tell it hastily, placing a hand out flat in front of yourself so that it knows what you mean.

Dashing your way over to the sink, you make quick work of scrubbing your hands clean with soap. As quickly and as efficiently as you can you try and make yourself as sterile as possible, because you’re pretty sure you read online once that you’re supposed to do that.

Back over by the creature, you stare at it with concern and desperation shining bright in your eyes. It isn’t crying as hard as it was, but the aftershocks of its whimpers are still vibrating through its alabaster chest. You don’t know how to tell it that this is going to hurt.

“I have to get this glass out of you.” You warn it, breathing heavily from how nervous you are. 

It doesn’t understand, so you reach your fingers out as close as you can to the base of the shard without actually touching it. You make a pulling motion with your forefinger and thumb, and the hatchling squeals and tries frantically to wriggle away.

A coil of guilt wraps its way around you, squeezing you until you’re sure you might cry too. This is your fault. Your carelessness got a living thing hurt, and it takes everything in you not to start bawling as you wipe a bead of sweat away with the back of your forearm.

“Shhhhh.” You hush the little thing as softly as you know how, trying to convey a look of warmth and comfort with your face. Your heart is pounding, nausea bubbling in your belly, but if you can look calm enough, maybe this won’t be so bad. “Shhhh, Little Buddy. This’ll all be over in a second.”

The fear of being bitten shines like a red light at the back of your mind, but you do your best to smother it when you take its tiny hand into your own. It’s smart enough to know what’s coming. It squeezes its eyes shut, turns its head sharply away so that it doesn’t have to look. 

“Here... We... Go.”

The hatchling grunts when you pull the shard free from its wound, but aside from that it’s all the reaction that it gives you. You waste no time, and hurry to do the same with the glass sticking out from its knee. It hardly even flinches, and you’re confused about why that almost makes you feel proud.

Its eyes open, slowly, cautiously, and when it sees that the hard part is over with it lets out a squeal. You haven’t yet deciphered the emotions behind its high-pitched sounds, but you’re pretty sure that was a squeal of delight. It’s an entirely different creature than the one you’d found lying defeated on the floor, face alert and spider-legs stretching out at its sides like a bird stretching its wings. Gingerly, you rub a dollop of ointment onto the punctures the glass left behind, and bandage it up as quickly as you can. 

“You’re okay.” You whisper, more to yourself than to it.

You wish you could take it to a hospital, to get it real help, but you know that this is the best that you can give it for now. Hurting something this badly, even by sheer accident, is something that’ll haunt you for a long while to come. And all over what? Things you can clean? Things you can pay to replace? 

You’re just about to help it back down off of the counter, when in the light from the oven you see the odd lines that litter the entirety of its scalp and face. Flipping on the light beside you to get a better look, you realize the lines are actually scratches. Your eyes drop down to the impossibly long, non-retractable talons sticking out from each one of its fingers. Not once have you ever been this close to the thing before, so never would you have noticed the fact that it’s been accidentally hurting itself so intensely. While some marks are still new and beginning to scab, the others are deep and scarred over with angry white blisters of flesh.

Another pang of guilt stabs into your chest. Without hesitation, you reach out to scoop the hatchling up into your arms, like a mother carrying her toddler. You’ll worry about the glass tomorrow; tonight the creature is sleeping in your bed with you. It wraps its many arms tight around you, and you can’t help but stifle a laugh at how much it resembles a face-hugger this way. You know, from Alien. It buries its face into the neck of your sweatshirt, all the way until you reach the safety of your bedroom.

It nestles down beside you as if this is something it has always been meant to do. Within just a few minutes, it’s out cold, snoring quietly in your ear. For you, sleep is a lot less easy to find. You’re still afraid of it ripping your throat out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been listening to “Stuttering Light” by Chad VanGaalen on repeat and it makes me think of this reader/Pennywise pairing/situation at the moment for some weird reason idk you feel me dawg


	25. Grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filled with regret, you vow to do better.

Work at your new job is somehow even more boring than your last. Even if you and your coworkers didn’t always get along, you at least had a couple people you could crack jokes with to make the time go along a lot faster. Here you don’t have that. You hardly say a word to anyone unless you have to, and it makes you sad to still feel so left out after all this time here.

You try to fill your mind with thoughts of exciting things to come, scenarios with Glenn, and fantasies about the first time the two of you finally sleep together; but for some reason it just doesn’t do anything for you anymore. The only thing you can seem to think about as you sit huddled over your desk, is what the hatchling is doing right now while you’re gone.

Sure, you used to agonize over whether or not your surprisingly forgiving neighbors would call the police on the screams coming from downstairs; and you’d stress over the smell of the carpet and the damage to things you were afraid you’d never be able to replace, but it was never really like _this_. Is it leaving its bandages alone? Will it be alright if you have to stay late to finish up? Does it still have water in its bowl? Is it scratching itself? Do its wounds still hurt? 

The last thought makes you wince. Being fiery used to be something you took pride in, but after last night you can’t stop feeling ashamed for it. You had never thought of yourself as a violent person, but looking back on some of the things you’ve done in the past couple years, you think maybe it’s time for you to... You know— _stop fucking doing that shit._ It sucks to revel and bask in your mistakes, but for some reason they’re hitting you all at once like a tsunami of cringe-worthy memories. All those times you tried to seduce Pennywise when it was clear it didn’t yet want you. The time you risked your ex‘s life, along with an entire restaurant filled with people, just to try and piss off your carnivorous boyfriend. The memory of you screaming at it, flinging a pillow in its direction. At the time you felt the clown had deserved it for the triggering things it was saying, but the image of you slapping Pennywise in your kitchen flashes across your eyes. It hurts to think about, and a part of you still knows why you did it, but the “I fucking hate you,” you’d hissed like a scorned teenager when Pennywise left you plays on repeat across your eardrums. All those times that you yelled at it, and the time you got belligerently drunk just to insult it to its face.

That time last night, when you threw that empty bottle at the wall.

That one stings the worst. You were angry, sure, but it’s honestly not a fucking excuse. You wouldn’t act that way to a pet that you didn’t really want, or any living creature for that matter, so why the hatchling? It didn’t know what it was doing wrong. The thought makes you have to close your eyes for a second, arms shaking as you grip the mouse of your computer harder between your fingers. You may not want to be responsible for that little thing, but it doesn’t have anyone else. The least you can do is make the best out of the time that it’s with you.

When you leave here you’ll stop at a store and try to find a pair of mittens and duct tape. You’ll buy it a couple chew-toys, and when you get home you’ll try to make sure it knows that you would never intentionally hurt it. You’ll do better. You’ll be better.

A deep breath makes you feel a little more at ease, knowing you’re finally trying to make an effort to solve an impossible situation. The regret of what you put it through last night is well-deserved, but it really does help the sourness in your mind. Too bad it doesn’t do a thing to get rid of all the mistakes you made with Pennywise, though.

You were good to it at times, you think. It’s just that... now... they’re really paling in comparison to all the bad. You made it do things it didn’t want to do, both unintentionally and intentionally manipulated it, and just so much other shit. There was love in your heart for it— you know that. But now when you think about that day by the woods when it left you, you’re not entirely sure that you can blame it.

When someday you finally get the chance to drop the hatchling off, you think maybe you’d like to try and apologize.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Oh my God you are _fine.”_ You breathe, to an absolutely distraught spider-infant. “At least now you won’t fuckin’ scratch yourself all the time.”

The hatchling glares at you with defiance in its eyes, one last long cry out to let you know that its tantrum is still far from over. There’s a cut on your arm from wrestling with it that you’re afraid might soon need stitches, but you’re satisfied in knowing the mittens are finally duct-taped into place.

You’ll have to probably buy it another pair soon. The taste-deterrent you found in the pet aisle should keep it from chewing them off— you think— for at least a while, but those talons were razor-sharp. They’ll tear through the ends eventually, but for now, it seems to work just fine. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As the days pass on, your worries at work only seem to intensify. You worry about if you accidentally left any tiny pieces of glass buried somewhere in the carpet. You worry about whether or not you locked up all the cleaning supplies well enough. You worry about whether or not the toys you got it are enough stimulation, and if it’s lonely waiting for you to get back home.

It’s all so foreign and new, and you’re not exactly sure you like this sudden change of heart. Sure, it’s better than being an asshole to something that doesn’t understand what it’s doing wrong, but is it really smart to let yourself get attached to it? There’s no changing your mind that the hatchling belongs with its real parent instead of you. When at last you figure out how to hand it off to Pennywise, you know in your heart that you never want to see it again. You can be a good caretaker for the time being, but you cannot let yourself feel like you are anything more to it than you are. You can’t. You just... You just _can’t._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A day comes when you grow so sick of worrying that you finally break down and baby-proof your whole apartment. Covers on all the electrical sockets, locks on the knobs of the stove, the whole nine-fucking-yards. You even tie up and tuck away the cords to your blinds, afraid of it somehow getting tangled up and— well, you know— one day while you’re out of the house.

It stops with its screaming, and in turn you stop treating it as if it is nothing more than a tiny demon. You rent a carpet-cleaner from the grocery store up the road, and after a few days of deep cleaning, your apartment finally feels livable again. After this, you make a promise to yourself and to the hatchling that you’ll never again lose your temper over its accidents. This doesn’t cut down on them at all really though, so one day you get the brilliant idea to start buying it diapers. 

They ride a little uncomfortably on its hips, since the spider legs that extend from its spine start pretty low on its back, but it doesn’t seem to mind wearing them at all. It whines at you like a distressed puppy whenever its diaper gets too wet or full for it to bear.

“So smart.” You croon at it with sincerity, every time it comes hobbling to paw at the base of your leg to let you know it needs to be changed. “Such a smart little... Hatchling.” 

It only makes sense that after a few times of changing its diaper and being up close and personal with... that area... that find yourself wondering about what its sex is. You suppose it doesn’t really matter all that much, but calling it an “it” just starts to feel wrong. Pennywise is a being with no true comprehensible shape, so it made sense there. But this creature does have a shape, and after a little too much time of googling and comparing arachnid, amphibian, and reptilian genitalia; you finally discern that the hatchling is probably male. 

“You hear that, Little Buddy?” You smile down at the hatchling as he does a series of somersaults across the carpet. “You’re a boy.”

He stops in his tracks, turns and looks at you with a delighted little squeak. There’s a light in his eyes, so bright they almost don’t even look black anymore.

Something in your heart breaks when he cocks his bulbous head at you, but you can’t understand why. 

“Boy,” you repeat, reaching out to him. “Can you say that word for me? Boy?”

He leaps onto the couch beside you, jumping to wrap his mittens around your waist. A warm, wetness against the bottom of your ribcage makes you jerk away. It takes you a second, but you finally realize he’s just chewing on the fabric of your shirt. 

A soft smile tugs at your lips again. Maybe he’s too young to even think about trying to communicate with anything more than chirps, screams, whines, and growls. He definitely still looks young, very young. In that cute little diaper, he almost even looks like a real baby.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You wanna try a bite?”

The hatchling stares up at you from beneath the kitchen table. He’s never tried cooked meat before. You’d assumed at first that, like his father, he wouldn’t even be able to stomach trying it; but when you offer out a chicken nugget, he scarfs it down with a satisfied purr. He then shoots hit little red mitten out, as if to ask for more.

Ten minutes later, you’re on Amazon searching for high-chairs. You vow never to make him eat raw meat on the kitchen floor ever again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I know that naming you is a bad idea... But I just can’t fuckin’ help it. It’s weird that you don’t have one, so I’m gonna give you one.”

The hatchling stirs beneath the covers beside you, sleepy eye cracking open. He doesn’t like the light of your phone screen shining so close to his face, so he flips over on his side to face away from you.

You know he doesn’t care about having a name, but it’ll be a lot easier to teach him to respond to something that isn’t just “Hey!” or “You!” or “Creature!” He needs a name; you’re sure of it.

“What about ‘Sonny?’ Or uh... Here. This list has ‘Ducky’ in it. I really like that. Something with an -y at the end.” You stroke your nails over his smooth, scarred temple; like something your mother would have done when you were a little girl. “There’s ‘Waddles’ from Gravity Falls... Or— or what was that spider from that kid’s show? Spiderus? No that’s— that’s too weird.”

You scroll down through the dozens of lists of pet-names on the internet, and the second you scroll past it, you know that it just feels right. It’s what Pennywise used to call you, and what you’ve called the hatchling a few times before. It isn’t pretty, or creative; but it means something to you. As much as you know that Pennywise no longer wants you in its life, it was en enormous part of yours. A name like that, it will help— in some weird way that only you will ever be able to understand— keep what you once meant to it with you always. If for some reason you can never take the hatchling back to Derry, you know though you could never forget Penn or the things that you did together, you want something to keep the memories new and fresh and beautiful and alive. 

“Buddy.” You whisper, before pulling him in closer to your chest. “Little Buddy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you read this fic do you picture yourself as the “reader”? Like when she does or says something— or do you picture someone else? I do that with some reader x fics sometimes but not always. ALSO thanks so much for the feedback!! And for even just reading at all!! We’ve been stuck in a gray-ish place for a while since the departure of Penn but I’ve still had so much fun with this and hope you’re enjoying the ride. Nearing the end!!


	26. Deadbeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loved your all’s comments and answers on the last chapter :) Thanks so much guys! Happy reading

It’s still early. The sun hasn’t yet risen, but for some reason you aren’t able to fall back asleep. Buddy is snoring gently in his little bassinet at the other edge of the room. It’s nothing fancy by any means, all white and without frills or patterns, but the baby seems to like it just fine. It’s better than sleeping in bed with you, and risking the chance of you accidentally rolling over on top of it at night. You run your hand gently over the top of his head as you leave the room.

The morning air is cool and damp against your bare legs when you make your way outside. You can see the promise of the sun blooming out somewhere in the distance, and you can’t remember the last time you were ever up this early on a Saturday by choice. It’s pretty out though. It really is.

You stand in front of your car. Hand trembling, you raise your key-fob up beside you and press ‘unlock.’ It feels like you’re doing something wrong. When you climb up into your seat and slide the key into the ignition, it feels wrong. When you turn it, and your engine roars suddenly to life, it feels _wrong._

You could run and grab Buddy right now. You could hush him and let him know how important it is for him to sit quietly buckled down in his seat, and make it to Derry and back in time to go out to the bars and find someone to replace Glenn— who has understandably given up on putting effort into you. Buddy could be where you were absolutely sure that he belonged, and you could be here. Alone. With no one to worry about but yourself.

And then you think about his face. You think about his cute, weird little spider-baby face and oh _God what have you done?_ You’ve let yourself get attached. You went and did just what you’ve been fighting all this time not to, and now you know that you could never in a million years give your ba— give your Buddy— away to a thing that might hurt it. 

White-knuckled, you grip tight onto the steering wheel. Sure, you weren’t perfect, but neither was Penn. You may have been selfish, and immature, but you certainly weren’t a fucking monster. How many times did Pennywise use its strength to intimidate you? To threaten you? It moved into your house without your permission, spent its days murdering innocent children and then coming home to frighten you. You were both deeply imperfect beings, but do you really think you were in any way worse?

No. Fuck the clown. Fuck going to Derry, and fuck the thought of ever getting rid of Buddy. Pennywise doesn’t deserve to have him in its life— or even meet him for that matter. If it had truly cared about you or Buddy it would have let you come back. It wouldn’t have even let you move here in the first place, likely knowing you were carrying its egg in your womb. It wouldn’t have forced you to go through a frightening and painful birth, only to be left alone in raising a little thing that you still aren’t certain in how to care for.

“What a fucking deadbeat.” You hiss to yourself, shaking your head as you turn off your car.

Maybe in a little while you can cook Buddy some bacon and sausage or something. You’re really craving waffles, but for some reason his stomach doesn’t seem to do well with anything other than meat. So yeah, bacon and sausage sound pretty good. But first, you decide to head back to bed for a bit until Buddy inevitably wakes you back up again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Almost just as soon as you close your eyes, you can suddenly feel that there’s someone else in the room besides yourself and the hatchling. It’s that familiar sensation of being watched, a wave of horror prickling at your skin. Slowly, carefully, you peel the covers back enough to peer at the doorway in front of you; fully expecting it to just be your own wild imagination and paranoia. You’re wrong though. Standing tall in your doorway, only a few feet from where Buddy is sleeping, is Pennywise The Dancing Clown.

Your jaw drops open beneath your lips. It isn’t happiness though. It’s _fear_. After all this time apart, it’s like you’ve forgotten just how huge and terrifying Pennywise really is. Your eyes go to Buddy, heart rising up in your throat at how easily the clown could reach out and grab him from that distance. 

 _It’s here to kill him._ The thought rings out in your mind again and again, sounding out like an alarm behind the confines of your skull.

Instinct drives you forward. You scramble out of bed without missing a beat, rushing toward Buddy’s bassinet in a blind whirl of panic. Pennywise stops you in your tracks, solid body blocking your path as it steps out in front of you. You try and push past it, but it reaches out to grab hold of your shoulders. Fingers digging into your flesh, it holds you in place, glaring deep in your eyes as it grips you. It’s so tight, so urgent, and for a split-second you’re afraid it might accidentally shatter your bones. 

“Let go of me!” You shout at it, voice cracking off into a scream at the end. “Wh-what do you even— Why are you even _here?”_

You can see the muscles twitching in its jaw, painted mouth wired shut. It doesn’t answer you, no matter how much it looks like it wants to. Your eyes search each other’s faces, frozen in time as it loosens its hold on your biceps. Pennywise straightens its spine, and gives you one last unreadable look before suddenly vanishing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As the day goes on, the less sure you are that any of the encounter was real. You were tired, and already thinking about Pennywise when you went to bed. It would only make only make sense that you would dream about it, right? _Right?_

You don’t know. Your arms do kind of hurt. Maybe you can wait and see if there are any bruises in a couple of days. Maybe it doesn’t even matter anyway. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“This might be scary at first,” you tell the hatchling over the rushing sound of water filling the tub, “But... But you _need one.”_

Buddy looks up at you, eyes wide and filled with curiosity. They’ve lightened so much over the past week, and you think maybe it’s kind of like how a baby will have blue eyes and then later change to brown, only not really. What was once coal-black, are now the same exact color of your own. 

The realization hits you like a slap against the side of your face. It takes your breath away, how much Buddy is starting to look like you. 

You shake the thought away. Instead, you focus your attention on lowering a now mitten-less and frightened killing machine into the bath.

His body goes rigid, pulling its spider-legs in tight on itself. His eyes go wide, mouth falling open in a fearful squeak before slamming back shut. Then he relaxes, and melts like butter into the warm water. You smile down at him, and as he closes his eyes, he starts to purr.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tears fill your eyes. You watch him as he watches the screen with such childlike wonder, some nature documentary you found on Netflix. He leans forward in his seat beside you on the couch, mittens gripping tight onto his own feet as a butterfly soars across a clear blue sky. He’s so happy, and innocent, and you can’t believe you ever treated him like he was nothing to you but a monster.

“I’m sorry for how bad I was to you in the beginning.” You whisper, but Buddy doesn’t seem to hear you. “There’s not an excuse for it... But I’m not ever gonna stop trying to make up for it. I love you. You know? You’re special, and I love you more than I ever thought that I could.” 

You watch Buddy’s hand raise out in front of himself. At first you don’t understand that he’s trying to point at the screen, but when your eyes follow the direction of where he’s gesturing, your heart swells. A mother lion laps at the head of one of her cubs. He’s pointing at it, because it reminds him of _you._

 


	27. Desperate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(((

“You haven’t even touched your food.” You murmur, watching Buddy stare listlessly down at the center of his plate.

He lets out a little sound in response, an almost-growl that takes you by surprise. It’s becoming more and more likely to you that Buddy won’t ever be able to speak like a human. You’ve started looking into teaching him sign-language, but you don’t even know how to begin with that. For now, you suppose that his gestures and sounds are enough for him to communicate with you what he needs to though, so you try not to worry about it just yet. 

“Eat.” You insist. 

Buddy looks at you and lets out a gentle wine.

“What the hell, Buddy? You love chicken nuggets.” Gently, you push his plate in closer towards his mouth. “Eat, before they get all cold and weird.”

Unfortunately, it’s to no avail. He won’t even sniff at them, instead slouching over in his seat with his many legs all hanging down at his sides. 

You shrug at him. It’s late enough as it is, and you have work early in the morning. If he’s hungry later he’ll let you know. You wrap up his untouched meal, stuff it away in the fridge, and carry him off to bed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Typically Buddy is bright-eyed and absolutely wired well before you get up to shower, but this morning he isn’t even moving. You check on him in his little bed and find him sleeping in an awkward, uncomfortable position. It takes you aback for a moment, but you brush it off. He’s still breathing, and nothing looks to be wrong at all.

You breeze through your morning routine, make sure Buddy has plenty of food and water to get through the day, and get in your now-working car to head off for work.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s a long ass fucking day, as you suppose most of your Tuesdays usually are. You try and pass the time by thinking about fun things you and Buddy can do together inside of the house when you get home, but every thought you have about the child is soured by thoughts of the being who helped create him.

Even if it was a dream, who’s to say Pennywise doesn’t have the power to have conjured it? All of its countless abilities, is your mind really all that off limits? It can put words in your head, fuck with your memories, fill you with bright orange lights— practically anything short of reading your thoughts as they happen. You remember the way that dream felt, the clutch of its hands around your arms. It wasn’t like those other dreams. It felt real, and now, as you retrace every single step, you think maybe it wasn’t really a threat against your son the way you had first thought. You think maybe, it might have been some kind of a warning.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When you arrive home to find your infant lying motionless on the carpet, all of your worries are suddenly solidified. Usually he would rush to greet you, excited beyond belief that his mother has finally returned. Today he hardly even twitches. He looks just as defeated as that night he’d accidentally stepped on the glass from that bottle you had thrown.

You rush over towards him, scooping him up in your arms and scanning every inch of his body for wounds or bruises. You check his head to make sure he hasn’t accidentally hit it against anything, the way clumsy toddlers so often do; but you find nothing.

“What’s wrong, Buddy?” You ask in a panic, heart pounding in your chest. “Can you show me where it hurts?” 

Buddy doesn’t make a sound. He doesn’t even move. He just lies there in your arms, head limp and just hanging there. Your eyes go to the snacks and sippy-cup you always leave for him now when you head to work. He hasn’t even touched them.

“Oh, Buddy, no.”

You feel like you might vomit. When’s the last time he had anything to drink? You dig your phone out from your pocket, quickly googling what the longest time a human can go without water is. A week? A few days? Why the fuck is the internet not sure? Like, isn’t that a pretty fucking important thing to come to a consensus on? 

Buddy whines when you sit him on the couch. You rush to grab his cup, offering it out towards his mouth. He refuses, and instead weakly squirms away from you.

What the fuck? What do you do? You press the back of your hand against his forehead and find that he doesn’t feel any different than usual. He isn’t sweating, or flushed, or anything. He’s just not fucking eating or drinking, which you’re pretty sure are things he needs to do to stay alive. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A quick trip out to the grocery store; and you come home with a bag of unflavored pedialyte, Karo syrup, and a few other things the internet told you might help. It’s no use though, none of it, and you nearly lose a finger just for trying. Buddy might be getting weaker, but it would take nothing for his fangs to slice through your bones.

You want to call your mother and ask for help, but what the hell could she do? What can anyone do? You can’t exactly take the little guy to a hospital, or even a vet really. You’re basically fucked, no matter how calm you try to look to Buddy whenever you think about the chance that this might really be how you lose him. 

_Is this what Pennywise was warning you about?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Friday morning comes with no sign of this getting any better before it ends. You call in to work again, so you can stay home with him and comfort him through whatever he’s fighting against. He still isn’t really moving, labored breaths that sound like he’s constantly on the edge of sobbing. He’s dehydrated, and in pain, and there’s not a single thing you can do besides watch.

You look down at his face, so numb and exhausted, and it takes everything in you not to break down. All of this time you spent falling in love with him, and for what? Just to lose him? Just when things were good again? Just when you felt whole, when you learnt what it meant to be a mother yourself? 

You love him. You’ve never loved anything like this, not even Pennywise. This can’t just be some sick, twisted lesson; or punishment for how cruelly you treated him in the beginning. It just fucking can’t.

“Please don’t do this to me, Buddy. Please. I love you. I can’t lose something else that I— I-I just..” You trail off with a wave of tears, sniffling into the sleeve of your shirt. “Just please. Don’t leave me too.”

Buddy looks at you. When you see the look in his eyes, so hopeless and vacant, there’s not a single doubt in your heart that he’s going to die. It’s inevitable; a vile and unavoidable fact that makes your whole body shake with fear. He’s going to die here in your home, and there’s not a single thing you can do to stop it.

But maybe... Just maybe, there’s someone— something— who actually can. 

Your eyes slam shut. It’s stupid, and desperate, and something you never thought in a million years you would ever have to do. The last thing you ever wanted was to do was go crawling back to its feet long after it left you, but this is far beyond a petty lover’s quarrel. This is your child’s life now. If Buddy is sick with something you can’t understand, or hurt somehow, it makes sense that the only creature like it in the universe would know what to do to heal it. 

It might be dumb. It might be the worst idea you’ve had since that clown walked into your life, but what do you have to lose? Buddy will die without help. You know this. If you go to Pennywise yourself, and ask it what to do, surely it will know. In all of its infinite wisdom, it has to fucking know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))) thanks for reading! Nearing the parts that I’ve been really excited to get to!! I know it’s been a ride but there’s only a little more craziness to go! I also don’t think I’ve ever outright posted it before but I have a tumblr (that I don’t really know how to use all that well whoops) it’s @slashmami !


	28. Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You take Buddy back to Derry.

The trilling of the line halts after only just two rings, and in your desperation you waste no time at all getting to what you need to ask. “Is it okay if I come stay with you— like, just for the weekend?”

“Hell yeah!” Jody exclaims excitedly, voice warbled by the terrible wifi at his apartment. “When you comin’ in?”

“Like, literally right now.”

“Oh shit. Okay well uh... I’ll try and get shit cleaned up around here then! Ricky’s still here; maybe we can all go out and do something tonight?”

You glance over at the bundle of blankets riding motionlessly in your passenger seat.

“Yeah I uh... I don’t really know about all that...” Voice breaking off at the end, you pause for a second to clear your throat. “You know this is uh... Well, there’s— there’s uh, see there’s a lot of um... Stuff? That I need to tell you guys?”

“Alright. We can just order pizza then.”

You don’t know where to go from that, so you decide to just not say anything at all. Maybe it’ll be easier to let them see for themselves; instead of them assuming that this is all just some weird, mental breakdown that they won’t really know what to do with over the phone.

“Sounds good, Jody. I’ll uh... Be there soon, okay?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When at last you pull into the driveway of the house that Jody’s been renting, you feel like an absolute wreck. The stress of saving Buddy hangs heavy on your shoulders, amplified by your worries of how Pennywise will react upon seeing you again in person. There’s also the matter of introducing your friends to the spawn of Derry’s town legend, but hey— if anyone was ever going to understand something this fucked up, it would definitely be the two of them.

You turn off the car, before just sitting there for a moment. Raindrops begin to spatter over your windshield. You’re thankful you made it here before the storm. You’ve never been an expert at driving, and you certainly didn’t need anything else to make the long trip here any more nerve-wracking.

Buddy lets out a little groan as you wrap him up in your arms. There’s no strength in your legs as you hobble up the driveway, and Jody and Ricky are already standing there waiting for you with the door cracked open. Jody presses his face through, and you watch his eyes light up as they drop down to the blanket.

“Is that a puppy?” They both ask in unison, Jody’s silvery voice contrasting perfectly with Ricky’s.

Once you’re inside, Ricky steps forward to close the distance between the two of you. Without even asking he peels back the ear of the blanket that’s covering Buddy’s face to take a quick peak. There’s not a single moment of hesitation after that. Ricky’s skin goes ghost-white, and he pushes himself back up against the other side of the room.

“Wait what?” Jody laughs, his smile still not wavering. He glances back to Ricky, who can’t seem to form words. Then he looks back to you, cocking his head to the side. “What’ve you got in there?”

There’s no putting it off now. You pull the covers back enough to show all of Buddy, sleeping soundly in your arms.

Jody’s smile disappears.

“Is that thing real?”

Heart in your throat, you nod. You fix the blankets back to how they were, not wanting the cold air of the apartment to make the hatchling feel worse.

“And it’s yours?”

“Mine.” You answer, eyes darting back to Ricky to make sure he hears you as well. “My son.”

No one says anything. Back outside, the rain begins to pour.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“So you fucked the clown.“

“Ricky!” Jody scolds, reaching down to gently cover the hatchling’s ears with his hands. “ _Language_.”

Ricky stares at him for a moment. He opens his mouth as if to fire something back, but inevitably just lets out a sigh and gives up.

“So you _slept_ _with_ the clown,” he amends, sneering at his friend before turning back to you. “And then it... Got you _pregnant_? With an _egg_? H-how does that even...?”

All you can offer is a shrug.

“We only ever did it in its clown-form— and sometimes its human-form, like... Once or twice I think. So I guess because it was, you know, in _that_ form, we were accidentally able to—”

“Wait a minute.” Ricky narrows his eyes. “Is he that... _male-model lookin’ motherfucker_ you posted on Instagram that one time? The one Gabe said he saw you out with at that restaurant?”

Jody guffaws so loud he has to slap a hand over his mouth. “That guy was _Pennywise the Dancing Clown?_ The horror of Derry? The one you were so upset over that day that you called me?”

Suddenly speechless, you drop your eyes down to your lap. You can feel your cheeks heating up, and you can’t think of a single thing to hurl back at that.

Ricky shakes his head. You think at first it’s because he’s disappointed in you, but when a smile pulls at his lips you realize that isn’t the case at all. He looks impressed, and when you look back up at him he’s absolutely beaming.

“Only you, Man. Only you.”

A crackle of lightning rips through the sky. It lights up the darkness through Jody’s windows, and when the thunder hits it sends Buddy scrambling up to wrap himself around your friend’s chest for comfort. It’s the most movement he’s made since the first morning he stopped eating though, so it sends a stab of hope deep into your heart.

“Tomorrow.”

Ricky’s words catch you off guard. You look back over at him, screwing your face up in confusion.

“ _Tomorrow_.” He repeats, raising his voice up over the sound of the storm raging outside. “Buddy can stay here with Jody, and you and I can go to the sewers or— or wherever else you think it would be.”

A worried look crosses your face. No part of you wants to wait until tomorrow, but you know in your gut that you have to. Flash-flood warnings keep lighting up your phones, and the news playing on Jody’s shitty television behind you keeps reminding you that this is the worst storm Derry’s seen in a really long time. There’ll be no getting into the sewer, or getting around really anywhere at all tonight.

Your eyes go to Buddy, who’s been curled up snug in Jody’s arms for the past couple of hours. Ricky is still very much petrified of the little thing, but it took Jody no time at all to let himself fall in love. He’s enamored with him, eyes shining every time the hatchling stirs or makes a sound. It’s like watching someone hold a baby dragon for the first time in their life, something so magical and rare. At least, if nothing else, you know your son will be safe tomorrow when the two of you have to leave.

Ricky stands up to go bake some of those boneless buffalo wings that come in a bag, and asks if either of you want anything to drink. When they’re done the three of you huddle together on the couch, since there’s only one single plate in the house that isn’t lying filthy in the sink. 

It feels good, everything else aside, catching up with your friends. A big part of you used to resent them, the way they reminded you that you were stuck here in this town with no sight of ever getting out. It’s hard to explain but, they made you feel trapped like them; a tree rooted deeply in ashen soil. Only now, you don’t feel any of that anymore when you’re around them. It’s almost like being so close to them again lets you pretend that you’re still here. Still in Derry. Still happy.

You shake the thought away, and bury it down with a handful of cheap breaded chicken.

Ricky clears his throat as he turns his knees towards you. “So if Pennywise is a clown— or a person, I guess... Why does Buddy look like... Well... Like _that_?”

It takes you a minute to figure out how to answer. You take a swig from your orange soda, and realize you’ve never really given it all that much thought yourself. 

“It’s... complicated. Pennywise isn’t really a— Well the one form is, but its real form is basically this... weird, huge, alien spider-creature. I think. There are these like, orange light things too? I don’t really understand it either.” 

“Ah...” Ricky nods, though it’s clear his curiosity still hasn’t been sated. He shifts a bit, dirty fingernail playing with the end of his shorts. “And okay so Pennywise has powers... But Buddy doesn’t have any at all?”

Jody perks up in his seat.

“Powers? You never said anything to me about powers.”

“Pennywise _shape-shifts_ , Jody. That’s obviously a fuckin’ power.”

Jody glares at Ricky, pointing down at the sleeping infant in his lap before turning his attention back to you. Jody’s always had a thing for superheroes, even since the three of you were all just little kids. He still even has posters hung up all around the apartment, cheap and weathered, like a ripoff version of Mister Glass.

“So what all can he do?” Jody presses, voice high and filled with unbridled excitement.

“Well Buddy he— Buddy can’t do anything. But Pennywise...? Jesus. It can pretty much do anything it wants, I guess.”

“Like what?” Ricky asks.

“I dunno like... Like super strength, mind-control, telekinesis, invisibility, uh... shape-shifting— obviously... It can detect your biggest fear and do shit with that, erase your memories—“

“ _Erase_ your _memories_?” Jody questions, thick brows knitted together.

“Of all the powers I just listed, that’s the one that grabs your attention?”

“Uh, yeah.” Ricky scoffs, scooting in closer toward you. “Because that’s fuckin’ _weird_... What so it can just, literally go and fucking roofie whoever the hell it wants at any time? Why would it ever need to do that?” 

The room falls silent.

It catches you off guard, being so suddenly reminded of that night when you all went to that party in the trailer together. Pennywise had told you that it had erased everyone’s memory who had gone. That means it had erased Jody’s and Ricky’s as well, which is something you’d long forgotten about. 

“I uh...” Your tongue turns to cotton in your mouth.

“So why’d you name him Buddy?” 

“Yeah, seriously.” Ricky laughs. “Buddy’s a pretty dumb name.”

“Oh yeah? What would you have named him then?”

“I don’t know. Something cool like— Like Diesel, or Hollywood or something like that.”

“Jesus Christ he’s a _baby_ , Ricky, not a fuckin’ male porn star.”

“Language!” Jody hisses, to which you and Ricky both shoot him a glare.

They both ask you at least a dozen questions a piece more before the night finally ends, which you suppose is to be expected. You’ve managed to do a thing that literally no one else in the universe has done before, so if this were either one of them instead of you, you’d have a boatload of fucking questions to ask too. They ask you about your sex life with the creature, and what it was like to birth the egg. They ask you what you and Buddy have both been doing together all this time, and about your fancy new job in Vermont. Then they start asking you questions about what you plan on doing once Buddy gets a bit older, and you stop being able to answer them.

You can feel the two of them share a glance from either side of you, but you don’t pay it any attention. If Buddy grows up, which you pray to fucking God that he will, you’ll deal with every obstacle as it crosses your path. You aren’t afraid of what he may someday become, or how your life will have to change because of it.

All those nights you spent drunk in the backseat of Ricky’s car, so young and stupid and empty. You always wished that someday something would come along, and for the first time in your monotonous life, make you feel like you actually have a reason to be here. A while ago you thought that reason was Pennywise, but you know now that it’s not.

It’s Buddy. It’s always been Buddy.

“Welp.” Ricky claps his hands together before rising up from his seat on the couch. “Sounds like you and I’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow, so I’m probably about to go to bed.”

He turns to wave the three of you goodbye, even bending down to give your son one last curious look before disappearing down the hallway to Ricky’s room.

“You can sleep in there with him if you want.” Jody smiles sincerely. “I swear I’m good sleeping on the couch with Buddy if you‘d rather stay in a real bed.” 

“It’s okay. I’m... I’m just gonna stay out here with him tonight I think.” 

It feels like a knife goring at the back of your throat to think about, but you don’t want to admit out loud to Jody that you’re afraid this is the last night you’ll ever be able to spend with your son.

Jody gives the hatchling one last gentle squeeze before handing him back off to you.

Once he’s gone you pull the baby in close, wrapping him up tight in his blankets. He just looks so fucking sad, and you know that you would do anything in the world to take that sadness away. You squeeze your eyes shut to keep from crying in front of him.

You had thought you were tired before the others went to bed, but you can’t seem to clear your mind enough to fall asleep. You know that tomorrow is going to be rough, and that you need to rest in order to be able to get through it, but it still doesn’t matter. Everything feels so wrong right now, more than just what’s happening with Buddy, and you can’t understand what any of it means.

Maybe it’s being back here in Derry, the fact that you can’t ignore your homesickness anymore. Maybe it’s all those memories of Pennywise getting stirred up around you like kicked dust, reminding you of how easy things were when the two of you were together. You know that it’s pathetic, but a fantasy flashes across your eyes anyway; of you and Pennywise and your son, so happy and healthy and full of light in your old house together. You know it’ll never happen, and that even if Buddy gets through this you would never let it back in your life after what it put you through, but it’s so fucking easy to just imagine it. 

“I know that you can hear me.” You whisper, to the darkness of Jody’s living room. “Maybe you couldn’t when I was gone but... But I know that you can hear me now because I’m _here_. In Derry. With you.”

Eyes closed, you start to shake. You aren’t sure whether it’s anger or fear, fingers tightening on the frilled ends on the baby-blanket in your lap. You open them again, and this time they’re so wet with tears you can’t even see. You tilt your head back, out of your son’s line of vision, so he won’t see them when they trail down the edges of your cheeks.

“Buddy’s sick, Pennywise. Our son he’s... He’s sick, and if you don’t help me he’s going to— He’s— Just... Just please help me. Tell me what to do to stop this. Please, Pennywise. If you ever had any love in your heart for me... You’ll make this easier on us. You’ll tell me now, tonight, so that I can help him, and that Ricky and I don’t have to waste all of our time going out looking for you tomorrow.”

Just as always, the clown doesn’t bother to answer. Even when you hold your breath to wait for it, hands clasped together like a little girl kneeling to pray. You pull the sleeves of your t-shirt up to look at your arms, something you should have done a long time ago. There aren’t any bruises there though. There’s nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I posted it last chapter but I’m dropping it again because I’m [Garth Brooks voice] shAMELESS! My Tumblr is @slashmami if you ever wanna ask or send me anything I will be absolutely over the moon but you don’t GOTTA anyways thanks sm for reading guys I am painfully excited to share what’s coming next


	29. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Ricky begin your search for Pennywise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple references to the attempted assault in the party chapter, but nothing really graphic or in-depth. Also a drug reference

When you wake up again, Buddy isn’t lying asleep on your chest anymore. You jerk up from the couch in a panic, whirling around to find Jody standing just in front of you, holding your son tight in his arms.  
  
A hand thrown over your chest in relief, you shake your head at him for scaring you like that.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Jody! What the Hell were you—“  
  
“Buddy drank water.”  
  
You stare at him for a moment, trying to process what he’s just said. Your eyes drop down to Buddy, still sleeping soundly in his little blanket. He doesn’t look any different. He doesn’t look like he’s even moved at all since you went to sleep.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Buddy drank _water._ ” Jody firmly insists. “Early this morning. I didn’t wanna wake you up, but I just... You know. I got up really early so I just wanted to try and give him something...”  
  
Lowering your voice to a whisper, you stare nervously down the hallway that leads to Jody’s room. “Does Ricky know yet?”  
  
“What? N-no, I mean I— Ricky’s still asleep, and I mean uh... It really was only just a tiny little bit, like—“  
  
“Don’t say anything to him.”  
  
Jody parts his lips as if to ask why, but when he sees how serious you look he closes them shut again. You and Jody have always had an understanding with one another, a trust between you that neither of you can really explain, or could ever be able to share with someone like Ricky. Jody nods his head, and doesn’t say another word about it.  
  
A pop in the floorboard down the hallway makes the two of you flinch. Ricky stands outside of the room in his boxers, yawning as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. At first you think maybe he was able to overhear you, but when he looks up at you he screws his face up in confusion.  
  
“You two about to make out or somethin’?”  
  
You and Jody both let out a little snort of air in amusement. Rolling your eyes, you turn away to try and find wherever the hell it is you put your overnight bag.  
  
It’s supposed to be boiling out today, and you can already tell from the blinding light seeping in through Jody’s haggard blinds that the weather channel was actually right for a change. In the bathroom you throw on a pair of khaki shorts and a tank-top, something that reminds you of that scientist lady in Jurassic Park. You’ve even got the boots and socks to match, and you pull your hair back to keep it from sticking to your face in the late summer heat.  
  
There’s a sudden, loud banging at the outside of the thin door beside you. It takes you by surprise, a sharp breath of air filling up your lungs before you realize who it is.  
  
“Hurry up.” Ricky grumbles, words muffled through the wood. “We’re going to the sewer-system, not the fuckin’ Met Gala.”  
  
You swing the door open to shoot him an annoyed look, though you do your best to bite your tongue. After all, Ricky truly is doing you an enormous favor by coming with you today when he has absolutely no obligation to do so. There’s no use pissing him off now before your search together has even started.  
  
He’s now dressed and ready to go, so you both decide it’s a good time to just go on and roll out. Following him through the doorway, you slap your hands over your pockets and declare that you’d forgotten your keys on the kitchen table. Ricky heads on out to stand by your car, but you turn back inside to grab them. It’s a good excuse to be able to talk to Jody alone again, so you lean in close to where he’s bouncing your son in his arms.  
  
You lower your voice, bending town until your lips are close to his ear. “Look, if Buddy starts eating or drinking more or just... You know, acting better in general then you can call me and tell me, but for now just... I don’t know. I’m scared Buddy’s still sick, and if Ricky thinks he’s getting better he won’t come with me to—“  
  
“I understand.” Jody smiles. “I know how Ricky is.”  
  
You lean down even further to give Buddy a kiss on his forehead to tell him goodbye. He stirs in your friend’s lap, but other than that he doesn’t give you any sign of response. Jody’s claim that Buddy drank water suddenly feels even more unlikely, and you head on back towards the door to leave.  
  
Just before you’ve gotten it open, Jody’s voice suddenly stops you, “Are you sure Buddy doesn’t have any powers? Like any at all?”  
  
You turn back to shoot him a look.  
  
“No, Jody.” You answer flatly, pulling on the handle. “He doesn’t have any powers.”  
  
Once outside in the warm, morning air, you swear you can hear a, “We’ll see,” from behind the door, but you shrug it off as Jody being overly-optimistic as usual. Whatever Jody has tell himself to stay entertained today, you suppose.  
  
The light reflects bright off of all the puddles that last night’s storm left behind. Ricky winces and throws up a hand to shield his eyes, already grumbling about how hot it‘s going to be today. You can’t help but agree, already starting to sweat through the underneath of your bra. The earth feels wet and fresh and washed clean though, so you can’t exactly feel contempt for the weather just yet.

Once you’ve both sat down, you turn your head towards him to let him know the first move. “So uh... It’s kind of a drive to get to where we’ll be able to actually get in to the sewers, so I figured we’d check out these woods first near my grandparents’ house.”  
  
“What?” Ricky crinkles his nose in a mixture of confusion and distaste. “Why the fuck would Pennywise be there?”  
  
You wait to answer until at last you’ve pulled out of the end of Jody’s driveway, thumbs tapping nervously on the grooves of your steering wheel. “Because that’s the last place I ever saw it.”  
  
Ricky shrugs, and slumps back in his seat for the rest of the drive.  
  
When you start to get close to the field by your grandparents’ house, you kind of start to panic a little bit. You do your best to look stoic, for Ricky’s sake at least, but your heart is pounding like a drum behind your chest. You feel sick, like you might have to actually pull over and vomit before you reach the little dirt road by the edge of the field.  
  
You know you have to find it, but what happens when you do? Will it actually help you? Will it threaten you? Will it hurt you? Will it kill you?  
  
No. It could never. You shake the possibility away as soon as it comes into your mind. After everything you both did together, surely you still mean something to it. It wouldn’t ever harm you. You’re sure of it.  
  
“Is this it?” Ricky asks, leaning forward again with squinted eyes.  
  
“Yeah, this is it.” You nod. “I just... I wanna cover every area possible, you know?”  
  
Ricky doesn’t answer. As soon as you’re out of the car, he pops an unlit Newport into the corner of his mouth.  
  
The two of you head through the grassy field that you and Pennywise had last had your final moments together, passing over the spot where your blanket had once laid. A pang of something you can’t quite describe pierces through you as your boots go crashing through it. You must have been pregnant with Buddy’s egg here without even knowing, likely so early along that Pennywise wasn’t even able to detect it.  
  
Your shoulders slump. It’s an immature thought, like one of those women who try to trap a man with a baby, but you can’t help to ask yourself this; if Pennywise had known you were carrying Buddy, would it have still so callously left you in the manner that it did?  
  
Before you even notice how far you’ve both walked, you finally reach the edge of the woods. It’s only a small patch of it, home to a few deer and other little creatures, but never has it looked this foreboding. You can feel Ricky stiffen beside you, though you suppose you can’t really blame him. If the roles were reversed, you’d be horrified at having to help search down something like Pennywise. When you were kids it was the literally the boogeyman, something your parents would use to frighten you out of ever running off from them. In Ricky’s mind, he might as well be hunting down the goddamn Jersey Devil.  
  
“Now’s the part in horror movies where one of our dumbasses would suggest splitting up.” Ricky jokes, moving in a little closer towards you.  
  
In all that he pretends to be so cool and unbothered by things, you still catch him flinching and jerking at every sound in the distance. Every birdsong, every snapping of a twig; they all make him take a sharp gasp the second that he hears them.  
  
You’ve scoured through about a half of the wooded area when Ricky pleads for you to just call out its name.  
  
“I don’t think that’s really gonna make all that much of a difference.”  
  
_“Please.”_ Ricky begs, brown eyes opened wide. “Call for it, and if it doesn’t show up we can go ahead and get the fuck out of this place.”  
  
“You’re not _scared,_ are you, Ricky?”  
  
“No, I just... I’m just allergic to trees is all.”  
  
Rolling your eyes, you turn away to put a little more distance between the two of you. You keep heading in the direction of the patch of forest that neither of you have looked into yet. Once you don’t feel as unexplainably embarrassed about him hearing you, you cup your hands over your mouth, and shout out its name.  
  
Silence. Nothing.  
  
You screw your eyes up in frustration, though you knew before even coming out here this wasn’t going to be easy. Three more shouts of its name, and you feel your heart drop with the realization that it’s definitely not here.  
  
A loud yelp from Ricky makes you twirl around in fear. You rush over towards him, stomping through weeds and brambles as they scratch against your bare legs. He’s just sitting there, crouched over against the trunk of a giant tree. His mouth is pulled out into a grimace, face blistering red.  
  
“It was a bee.” He quickly explains, putting a hand out flat in front of himself. “Just really fucking hurt.”  
  
You drop down onto one knee to take a look at it, the angry white welt welling up beneath his skin. He’s already gotten the stinger out, but he’s right. It definitely looks like it hurts.  
  
“Sorry.” You rise to your feet and offer out a hand to help him up too. “C’mon. Let’s get back to the car.”  
  
It’s only been about an hour since the two of you started out into the woods, but when you pick up your phone from the cupholder you see that Jody has already called you about nine times already this morning. You know the reason behind why, so just when you’re about to turn it off and pretend you never saw it, Ricky’s phone lights up in his hand beside you.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
You watch as Ricky’s unkempt brows knit together. He turns and looks towards you, moving his phone down onto his neck to relay the message.  
  
“Jody says Buddy’s been drinking and moving around a bunch and shit since we left.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“What the fuck?” Ricky asks, looking utterly taken aback by that. “Aren’t you happy?”  
  
“What? N-no, I am! It’s just... How much is he eating and drinking though? He could still be really sick.”  
  
Ricky hesitates for a moment, like he’s thinking. Then you can hear Jody saying something on the other end, and even though you can’t understand it exactly, you know it’s something stupid by the way Ricky slaps a hand over his head.  
  
“Jody, no. That’s not— Don’t fuckin’ do that, man. You have one job. _One job._ Just... I don’t know just try and get him to eat or drink or rest or whatever the hell until we get back.” He quickly presses the button to hang up, and shakes his head at you with an exasperated sigh. “You don’t even wanna know.”  
  
You stare at the empty road ahead of you, mouth silent and mind roaring with thought. You haven’t even turned the car on yet, just sitting there waiting to pull back out. A bead of sweat drips down your temple.  
  
Ricky clears his throat and throws his hands out beside himself. “So what do you wanna do now? You wanna head back or keep looking?”  
  
“Keep looking.” You answer, a little too quickly. “It’s just uh... You know. How much can we really trust Jody to decide whether Buddy’s actually doing better?”  
  
Ricky shrugs, and turns to stare out through passenger-side window.

 

* * *

 

  
“I know it might be a long shot, but it’ll be easier hitting this area next instead of circling back later if the clown somehow isn’t in the sewers.”  
  
“What is this place?” Ricky asks as he steps out of the car.  
  
You turn to look up and down the gravel trail that leads to the abandoned house. It’s so beautiful out here, especially now, with the sun shining so bright above you.  
  
“This is where we met.” You answer, watching a dragonfly swoop and rise over the top of your heads.  
  
“Fuck were you doing all the way out here?”  
  
“I was drunk.” You shrug. “Needed some fresh air.”  
  
You start down the path, only stopping when you realize you don’t hear any footsteps trailing in behind you. Turning around a bit, you see Ricky just standing there; his face riddled with annoyance.  
  
“It’s really not that far.” You assure your friend. “Just like, a little up this hill a ways.”  
  
He lets out a dramatic sigh. You get that he’s already miserable— so are you— but he promised to help you with this. He may not be known for keeping his promises to you, but you need him to keep this one. This is something you feel as if you cannot do alone.  
  
This time when you start walking again, Ricky reluctantly follows.  
  
He catches up to pace by your side, heavy shoes clomping down against the rocks and gravel of the path. You’re both already panting by the time you reach the first hill, and Ricky stops for a moment to take a break. God, you’re both really fucking out of shape.  
  
“So Pennywise.” He begins, bent over forward with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “It only ever really eats little kids— Right?”  
  
“Well...”  
  
“You’re joking.”  
  
“It _prefers_ kids, yeah.” You answer before starting up the trail again. “I don’t think it eats adults unless it really has to.” _Like those dudes who tried to assault me in the bedroom of that trailer._  
  
“Well,” Ricky begins, “Hopefully it doesn’t fuckin’ feel like it has to eat _me.”_  
  
The two of you trek onward. You’re actually shocked at how long the walk to where you and Pennywise met actually is; but you chalk it up to how absolutely plastered you were when you stumbled your way on up here. Walking always seems like less of a chore when you’re drunk, you suppose.  
  
As soon as you reach the top of the last hill, your traveling companion suddenly freezes.  
  
“No.” Ricky declares, as soon as he sees the house. “Absolutely not. I’m not— No. I’m not going in there.”  
  
You tilt your head to the side. It really is a scary fucking house; with weeds growing up the sides and every window blackened with years and years of dust and debris. It reminds you of the Blair Witch house, and even in this beautiful weather, it still sends a shiver up your spine.  
  
“It’ll just be a minute. The house is pretty bare, so I’m just... Look, you don’t even have to come in with me. Just stand out here and make sure I don’t like, get stabbed by a serial killer hiding inside or something.”  
  
Ricky hesitates. You can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t even want to go near the house, but after a beat passes he gives up and steps forward.  
  
“If this is all some ploy to get me alone so you can feed me to your little ‘Killer Klown’ boyfriend then— well I can’t say I don’t deserve it— but I’m still gonna be pretty upset with you.”  
  
It’s dark inside. Dark, and so stuffy you can hardly even breathe. The floorboards creak madly as you make your way into the center of it, trying to dodge the thick cobwebs that hang down from the ceiling.  
  
It wasn’t like this inside whenever you met it. It was freezing, every insect inside long dead or hidden away. The snow was pouring from the sky, so gorgeous and serene. Maybe it was the alcohol, you always thought that it was, but when Pennywise came creeping out from behind one of the rotten walls, you had thought it was beautiful too.  
  
Its face was almost the same as the clown’s that it always wore around you, but somehow even more gruesome. The whites of its eyes were narrowed and black, fur-covered arms ripping out from the sleeves of its suit. It was bigger, scarier; but all you could see was that it was different. Special. All those years watching horror movies, reading books about fairytale creatures; and this one was finally real. The world wasn’t just made up of fucking blood and bone and math and gray and shit. There were wonders to behold out there, things that couldn’t be explained by arrogant men in white button-downs. There was Pennywise. There was everything.  
  
“I’m begging you.” You whisper, twirling around to check every room you can step into without crashing through the floorboards. “Please just show yourself to me. Give me something. Give me _anything.”_  
  
But it doesn’t.  
  
When you head back outside, Ricky is nowhere to be seen. You freeze for a moment, before you realize you can hear him, faintly, talking to someone in the distance. The sound travels out here. He could be all the way back at your car, so you break into a sprint to make sure he’s alright. It takes you a moment, and by the end you’re drenched with sweat, but you finally find him leaning against the passenger-side door.  
  
“Thanks for stickin’ around back there, Bro.” You grumble sarcastically.  
  
“Jody won’t stop fuckin’ callin’ me.” Ricky gives you a frustrated glare, sliding his phone deep down into his pocket. “He says Buddy’s doing way better, and—“  
  
“Just ignore him.”  
  
“No, I— Okay listen. I wasn’t gonna say anything earlier, because I figured he wasn’t gonna keep on with it; but he’s literally obsessed with finding out what Buddy’s power is.”  
  
“What? I— I-I-I told him Buddy doesn’t have any powers!”  
  
“I know.” Ricky puts his hands out in front of himself, gesturing for you to calm down. “I _know._ But he just keeps on trying to... I don’t know, trigger them I guess? It can’t be good for Buddy to be dealing with. I really think we should get back home before Jody does something stupid.”  
  
Unable to think of anything to say, you just stand there for a while. Your mouth is open and empty. You search the rocks beneath your feet for an excuse to keep searching, and after a moment you finally find something you can use.  
  
“So then what if this happens to him again? What if he stops drinking water again, only this time instead of just being for a few days, it’s enough to make his organs start shutting down?” It’s not a lie. You won’t know what to do if this somehow happens again. “And plus it’s literally Jody. He would never hurt Buddy. If he’s... Doing some type of— some kind of weird tests on him, then I guarantee you that they’re all harmless.”  
  
“But he’s—“  
  
“Ricky, please. We haven’t even been to the sewer, and I feel like if nothing else then that’s where the clown has to be.” You clasp your hands together, trying to convey just how important this is to you. “There are things I need to ask it before it goes to sleep, so that I can know how to take care of my son when it’s gone.”  
  
Eyes blank and void of expression, Ricky searches your face. You’re both hot, and hungry, and exhausted; it only makes sense that he’d be dying to get back home. He sucks his bottom-lip between his teeth and chews it, trying to decide what to do.  
  
“Please.” You beg again, and this time Ricky lets out a sigh.  
  
“Fine. We can— We can go to the fuckin’ sewers.”

 

* * *

 

  
  
The three of you used to play here as children; you and Ricky and Jody. You were all so hyper and wild, chasing each other with snakes and spiders you’d found wandering along side the water. Summers were so different when you were kids. You could have played in the barrens with them from sunrise to sunrise, and never once gotten tired of it.  
  
“If this is where it lives, I guess that makes us pretty lucky then.” Ricky comments, as you peer into the darkness of the first tunnel. “You and me and Jody were here all the time and it never got any of us.”  
  
“It was asleep. I told you it does that, like every thirty years or so.”  
  
“What are you gonna do if it’s sleeping now?” Ricky quirks a brow.  
  
“Wake it up. Then ask it what I need to ask and let it go back to sleep, I guess.”  
  
The two of you disappear into the darkness of the tunnel, your paths illuminated only by the light of your phones. Ricky curls his nose up when the first wave of stench hits his nostrils; gallons of human excrement slamming over both of your senses all at once. It’s up to your heels, soaking up into your socks until every footstep squelches sickly beneath you. It’s just as disgusting as you remember it, and this time you’re more careful not to fall face-first into the thick of it.  
  
“You’re sure you know where to go?” Ricky asks, suddenly whispering.  
  
It’s as if he can feel it too, the presence of a large predator. It’s like how an animal will instinctively know which creatures to avoid, and where they’d most likely live. Your skin prickles on your arms, tongue going dry in your mouth. Something dark lives here; you’d know that even if you’d never met it.  
  
“Yes.” You answer at last. “It’s shown me where to go before.”  
  
You continue down the abyss, heart throbbing in your chest. Rodents skitter up and down the ledges, and you smile inwardly when you remember that time Pennywise roared at that rat that had accidentally frightened you as it passed. You think about telling Ricky about it, just to relive it for a moment, but you know that no single part of him would care.  
  
After turning down one of the last corners, your companion slows to a stop. Again with this? You turn around to roll your eyes at him, but stop when you see the look on his face. It’s horror. Horror unlike any you’ve ever seen there before.  
  
“What the fuck, Ricky? We’re literally almost there.”  
  
“I love you, and I want to help you. You know that.” He shakes his head, every movement of his muscles so very frantic. “But I think this is where I have to leave you.”  
  
“Ricky—“  
  
“No. This is it for me.” He gives you a half-hearted wave goodbye as he takes a step back. “I’m not what you were to it. It doesn’t give a shit about whether or not it kills me... I hope you find it. I really do. I just don’t wanna be around to find it too.”  
  
You haven’t even opened your mouth to say anything back when Ricky turns to sprint out towards the sound of birds chittering outside. Again there’s really no blaming him, so you turn back towards the tunnel that you’re certain leads to its home.  
  
This is it. You hold your breath.  
  
You brace yourself for the sight of dead children floating around the skylight above, but when you look up at the ceiling, you find nothing. There’s no half-eaten flesh, or dying toddlers draped out through the heart of its lair. There are bones, yes; broken and bleached by the sun, but that’s it.  
  
You don’t say anything this time. You don’t have to. It isn’t here. It’s not curled up like a dragon at the base of its trash-heap. It isn’t dancing about on the center of its flamboyant stage. It isn’t hiding behind you; you know this because you can’t stop spinning around to check.  
  
Crestfallen, you drop down to sit on an old mattress lying scattered out beneath bottles and filth. A rusted spring cuts through the fabric of your shorts and you wince in pain, scooting over towards the other end. You’re just about to pull your knees up to bury your face into, when something beside your foot catches your eye.  
  
It’s a dress. You pick it up between your fingers, trembling for a reason you can’t understand. You recognize it, the beautiful fabric; and remember the night Pennywise had agreed to go with you to that restaurant. It’s wrinkled and dirty, chewed by rodents and God-knows-what else; but you’d know that dress anywhere. You’d left the tags inside of it to return it but had forgotten; and when you flip it inside out there they are. Tears fill your eyes. You’d always thought of that memory as something to be ashamed of, a horrible reminder of how selfish you once were; but here Pennywise kept it.

Did it take it after it broke up with you? You don’t remember it being here when Pennywise brought you here itself. 

It takes everything in you to set the dress back down to leave. This place was its home, and everywhere you look you’re reminded of the memories you once shared together; of the moments you’ll never be able to get back. You can see its claw-marks in the walls, the print of its teeth on the bones, its face painted up on that stage. You know you should hate it. You know that you once even said that you did. But when you head back out into the darkness of the sewer, it’s hard not to feel like this was who you were supposed to grow old with.  
  
But hey. A glimmer of hope flickers at the back of your mind. If it isn’t here, in the place where you know it takes its long rests, then at least now you know it’s still awake.  
  
“Ricky!” You call out, splashing throw the sewage as you veer around the final turn. “Ricky, I think I know where Pennywise is!”  
  
Ricky looks up from his phone. There’s no more sympathy in his eyes, and he shakes his head at you like a disappointed mother.  
  
His voice is heavy with solemnity when he tells you, “We really need to get home. It’s gonna get dark soon, and Jody said they were about to lay down for a nap, so that buys us a couple hours max, but I really think we should just grab a couple burgers and start heading back home.”  
  
You take a deep gulp, eyes dropping to the ground before traveling right back up to Ricky’s face. Chest puffed out, you ready yourself to stand your ground about continuing your search.  
  
“It’s at my old house. It has to be. That’s the only... That’s the only other place in Derry that it could be.”  
  
Ricky doesn’t waver. “Look, if we don’t get home soon Jody’s gonna put your kid through like a needle pit or something. Like in Saw.”  
  
“But—“  
  
“Why the _fuck_ are you being so stubborn about this?” Ricky glares at you, suddenly looking bewildered. “Like, Buddy doesn’t even have a _fever_. He’s purring, and eating, and Jody says himself he seems completely fine! What, is it because—“  
  
Ricky freezes. You can see the cogs turning in his mind, the realization lighting up his face. His jaw drops, and he takes a step back away from you; as if you’ve suddenly become a vile-looking monster before him.  
  
“I knew it. Oh my God I fucking _knew it!_ All this searching, looking for Pennywise... ”  
  
“No, Ricky, listen—“  
  
“You aren’t doing it for Buddy.”  
  
“— I know how it looks but I swear—“  
  
“You’re doing this for _yourself!”_  
  
The sting of his words reddens your cheeks, like a harsh slap to the jaw. Your mouth falls open empty, dry, and you drop your eyes down to stare at the earth beneath you. An explanation is there, resting between your lips, but you just can’t seem to force it out of you.  
  
Your silence is all the confirmation Ricky needs.  
  
“I can’t believe this.” The young man snarls, suddenly folding his arms in front of his chest. “Your son is completely fine now, and you could drive back to Rutford and be with him and tonight, but you can’t stop searching because you miss your deadbeat fucking baby-daddy!“  
  
Your face contorts into a furious scowl, hands balling up into fists. When at last you can finally find the words, they’re hardly anything more than a whisper.  
  
“You weren’t there.”  
  
Ricky turns his cheek, trying to lean in enough to hear you. “What?”  
  
Your shoulders drop. Your fingers play nervously with the hem of your shirt, turning away so that you can’t see Ricky’s face anymore.  
  
“When Pennywise left me. You weren’t... You weren’t _there._ That night I woke up and it was... just... watching me. Something had changed, and it...”  
  
Ricky shakes his head. At first you swear you can almost see pity in his eyes, but his face hardens to something that almost resembles fury. His nostrils flare out, fists clenching down by his sides as he takes a step out towards you.  
  
“I’m gonna do you a favor, and I’m gonna tell you something you need to hear before you drive yourself fucking nuts over this thing.”  
  
You glare at him in shock, anger heating up your face at the sudden change of tone in his voice. A quick step back away, and he follows you as you go.  
  
“You’ve gotta stop with this. I know you’re hurt but— But you’re romanticizing a memory that you’ve played over and over in your head. Shit didn’t go down the way you wanna pretend it did. Jody told me how upset you were after that thing dumped you. You didn’t have any doubts then about the fact that it just didn’t fucking love you anymore, so why now?”  
  
You’re staring at him like a fish gulping for air, mouth hanging open empty as you grasp for words that just won’t come.  
  
“Fuck you, Ricky.” You croak, because it’s all you can think to say.  
  
“You know, you could have gotten me killed today.”  
  
You can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a question or a statement, and Ricky shakes his head at you again in unveiled judgment. Ricky, who nearly always gets you and Jody hurt— or worse— when one of his stupid ideas turns out to be deadly; and here he is fucking lecturing you.  
  
A scoff bursts out from the pit of your chest as you shoot back, “You _cannot_ be serious right now.”  
  
“If we had actually found that thing out here— which you know goddamn well doesn’t wanna be found— it could have literally fucking murdered me. You could have gotten me killed. You could have gotten me _fucking_ _killed,_ and for what? For you to rekindle an old fucking flame?”  
  
It feels like a sucker-punch, being accused like that when you’re already down. There’s a fire in your eyes. Every time you try and back away Ricky moves towards you, because he doesn’t understand how cornered that makes you feel.  
  
“You wanna talk about dragging people into dangerous situations?” You ask hatefully, mouth full of venom. “Wanna talk about getting people hurt?”  
  
Ricky narrows his eyes. He doesn’t know what you’re getting at, and it only makes telling him feel like that much more of a spiteful victory.  
  
“I was almost _raped_ because of you, Ricky!”  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?”  
  
“That party.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“The one at that stupid fucking trailer. You left me there because of that— that girl Crystal, and when I went into the bedroom to get my keys I was almost literally fucking gang-raped! I would have been too, if... If Pennywise hadn’t intervened at the last fucking second!”  
  
Ricky sneers. “You’re insane. I’ve never gone to a party with you and Crystal. Not once.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” You straighten your spine, no longer taking anymore steps away when Ricky takes another one towards you. “Just because you can’t remember something, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”  
  
His face drops. You can see the look of horrified understanding flash through his eyes; guilt and concern playing through his features all in the matter of a second. His bottom lip twitches. For a second it looks like he might break down, but this is Ricky, and he’s too proud to give up now. He started this fight, and just like always, he’s determined to try and finish it. His features harden again, false indifference, and he all but snarls when he starts back up at you.  
  
“It doesn’t change the fact that I thought we were doing this to save Buddy’s life.”  
  
“What? We— we _were.”_  
  
“No! You knew he was fine when we went back out here today. Jody told you— Jody told you that Buddy was starting to eat and— and— and— and feel fine and shit, but you made me come all the way out here with you anyway!”  
  
“Oh, boo-hoo, Ricky! You had to actually leave your house today! The fucking horror!”

Another flash of hate, and Ricky buries his hands up in his hair in frustration.

“Just stop it! Don’t you get it? Pennywise _LEFT YOU!_ It doesn’t _WANT_ you! Maybe it never even did! It might have loved you at some point, sure, whatever, but love dies and sometimes there’s just no fucking reason! All this time you’ve been back here and not once has it shown a sign that it wants to be found.” He’s close enough to you that you could spit at him. You think about it even, the look of disgust that would plaster across his face as soon as you did it. His muscles loosen, but the fire in his eyes still stays. “But that’s life, okay? You pull on your big-girl panties, you make a good life for your child, and you move the fuck on! You don’t drag your friends into situations and then lie and say it’s to save your dying child’s life!”  
  
This time when you turn your head away again, you start to cry. Ricky shuts his mouth, because he knows that he’s won this time.  
  
He’s right though; he really is. Pennywise left you, and no matter what, if it truly gave a damn about either you or Buddy it would have shown itself to you a long time ago. It wouldn’t have put you through any of this; and you’re a fool for thinking it was all for some perfectly explainable reason. Everything you’ve done today was for yourself, like the selfish fucking idiot that you are.  
  
“Looks like rain.” Ricky murmurs, voice now as soft and honeyed as Jody’s has ever been. “You wanna go get a drink before we head back?”  
  
You give a half-shrug. “I think Applebee’s has dollar margs agan.”  
  
“Applebee’s could have dollar eight balls of coke. Still wouldn’t be enough to get me to step foot in that shithole Derry dares to call an Applebee’s.”  
  
“I really doubt that.” A smirk pulls at your lips; you can’t help it.  
  
Ricky laughs good heartedly, but you can tell he’s still mulling over where he wants to get that drink.

“Hotels have good bars.” He suggests meekly, as if he expects you to immediately shoot the idea back down.  
  
“I can’t even think of a time I’ve ever seen a hotel in Derry.”  
  
“We’ve got one.” Ricky nods. “Lost my virginity there after junior prom.”  
  
“In a hotel room? Nice.” A smile crosses your face at the memory of your youth. “A lot better than losing it out in a tent to the prom king after he drops his real date off at her parents’ house.”  
  
Ricky laughs again, loudly and sincere. The fight is over, and you can feel the tension dissipating into the warm summer air around you. The sky is orange and darkening by the second, and you guess that it’s beautiful. Even if it rains, it’ll still be beautiful.  
  
“I like Jody better, you know.” You tease, as you make your way back to the car.  
  
Ricky smiles.  
  
“Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

  
You pull into the parking lot of the hotel, but before you can even turn off the ignition you feel your shoulders drop. Slumping back against the seat, you both just sit there for a while. Air-conditioner whirring, the two of you stinking of sweat; you’re both more exhausted than you’ve been in a long while.  
  
“So this is just...” It’s you who breaks the silence, a hard swallow splitting apart your words. “You know... How it all ends? Buddy and I we— We just go home? Like none of this ever even happened?”  
  
Ricky doesn’t answer. When you look over at him in the passenger seat, he looks just as drained and numb as you do. There’s a smudge of dirt by the tail of his eyebrow, and when he scrunches his face up as if he’s thinking hard about something, the smudge moves along with it.  
  
“I know it sucks,” Ricky breathes, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the ‘but’ that’s sure to follow. A beat passes, then, “But not every story needs some... well-thought out ending. Not every— You listening?”  
  
Reluctantly, you nod your head in answer.  
  
“Not everything has to be resolved. Not everyone needs to serve some hidden purpose... or redeem themselves... or make some big dramatic reunion with someone they’ve lost. Sometimes there are loose ends, you know? Sometimes things just fuckin’... happen... And there’ll never be a reason why.”  
  
“Yeah.” You nod your head again. “Yeah, I guess.”  
  
The two of you both sigh as the frigid air rushes over your bodies when you head through the enormous double-doors. You can feel the promise of a sunburn ebbing at your skin, legs like rubber when at last you get a chance to finally rest them.  
  
The bar is packed, but thankfully enough the bartender notices you fast enough. With the way you both probably look right now, it isn’t really that much of a shock that you stood out to him.  
  
“Two waters and two Jägerbombs please.” Ricky politely requests, smiling before twisting his face up into a disapproving scowl. “I remember when I was obnoxious as shit.” He grumbles, as some well-dressed group of strangers raise their shot glasses together at the end of the bar.  
  
“Do you think it’s bad for Buddy to see me drunk?”  
  
Ricky puts his hands out beside himself.  
  
“You could always do what my mom did when I was little.”  
  
You quirk your brow. Ricky sighs.  
  
“This was before she met my stepdad, but... She used to always like, go out for girls’ night or some shit or another on the weekends and get plastered... It’s a long story, don’t look at me like that. Well anyways, usually my sister and I would be asleep by the time she got home, but sometimes we’d still be up, so she’d have to come in and like, go upstairs past us to get to bed, right?”  
  
“Okay...”  
  
“So instead of us seeing her drunk, she’d have the sitter put a sheet over her and help her up the stairs. That way we would think it was a ghost instead of knowing our mom was drinking.”  
  
“That is...” You pause for a moment, before bursting out into a laugh. “Ricky that is literally the worst story you’ve ever told me. Did that really happen?”  
  
Before Ricky can answer the bartender is back with your drinks. You both down your waters in a hurry, like it’s a race to see who can finish your shots first. You win, and after grimacing from the taste you throw up a wink and a peace sign to celebrate your victory.  
  
Ricky signals to the waiter for two more, then swivels around in his seat to turn towards you.

“It’s Saturday right? Not Sunday?” He asks curiously.  
  
“Yeah, still Saturday. Why?”  
  
“Because we’re both drinking on an empty stomach.” Ricky drums his fingers against his empty glass. “Bout to get fucked _up_ in this fine establishment.”  
  
You laugh at that, but it turns out Ricky was right. A couple more tequila sunrises in, and you’re really starting to feel it. It’s almost like being underwater, all of your senses dulled and everything around you moving so much faster yet slower all at the same time.  
  
Clumsily, you pull your phone out of your pocket and check to make sure Jody hasn’t called you again. He hasn’t. His last message states just what Ricky had said earlier, that he and the hatchling were about to lie down for a nap. Your heart sinks, suddenly so very ashamed of yourself for how you acted today. You were so bent on finding a thing that doesn’t want you, you didn’t even stop to feel elation at the fact that your son is going to survive.  
  
One more drink, and you can feel yourself verging on the edge of tears.  
  
“Ricky... Do you think I’m a bad person?”  
  
“Why, cuz you’re a bad mom?” Ricky smirks, reaching out to jab you in the side.  
  
You roll your eyes. Fully drunk now, you try and adjust your position in the stool to give your body something to do besides stare numbly at the other people celebrating at the end of the bar.  
  
A few minutes pass. Ricky clears his throat, voice suddenly steady and serious this time when he asks you, “What makes you think you’re a bad person?”  
  
“Lots of things.”  
  
“Do tell.”  
  
“I dunno it’s just…” You run your tongue over your lips to wet them. “I mean, fucking an ethereal child-eater aside... I just... I don’t know. Maybe because I’m a promiscuous, narcissistic, borderline alcoholic?”  
  
“Who isn’t though?”  
  
“With pretty much no moral compass? You know I just... I create mischief and make up problems for no other reason than the fact that I’m bored... I’m petty, and immature, and spiteful, and— and worst of all I don’t even see these things as flaws! I think they give me some type of advantage over people who aren’t willing to sink down to my level.”  
  
“Yeah? And I’m a judgmental prick.” Ricky shrugs. “Every person is a bad person; whatever the fuck that means. Morality is all relative. Fuck it. I leach onto people like me because it makes me feel cool— makes me feel fun. I’m a terrible friend and all I ever contribute is the fact I look like Lil Dicky.”  
  
You let out a bubble of laughter. Already you can feel your eyes drying up on their own, and you smile widely at your friend.  
  
“How’s it feel not having a personality?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Ricky grins. “Why don’t you lend me one of yours?”  
  
The two of you dive head-first into a pool of laughter; catching up on old times and talking fondly of how much Jody means to you both. You both feel a little guilty about the fact that he’s home with Buddy, but quickly decide Jody would much rather be home with a rare being than drunk with you guys at a hotel-bar. Even so, you promise to do this again the next time you’re in Derry; Jody’s invitation included.  
  
“I’m gonna have to stop soon.” You admit, speech now veering at the edge of a slur. “Or else I’m gonna end up crying and puking all over the inside of Jody’s apartment.”  
  
“You know what I think?” Ricky offers without prompting, suddenly narrowing his eyes.  
  
“Wait a minute... You’re telling me you _actually_ know how to think?”  
  
Ricky sneers. “I think... That _you_ need to get laid.”  
  
“Gross.”  
  
“I’m serious. When’s the last time you really got your back blown out?” Your piercing glare tells him what he needs to know. “See? That’s what like... A record for you? Look there.” Ricky raises his finger just slightly, trying to subtly motion to the group of celebrating strangers just a few yards away. “You’ve got six dudes—“  
  
_“Old_ dudes.” You correct him, trying to sound annoyed through the giddiness of how wasted you feel.  
  
“— Six dudes right over there to choose from, and the best part is you’re already in a hotel.” Ricky smiles, then downs the rest of his glass with a wince. “That’s like, half the work already laid out for you.”  
  
You’re ready to sneer and brush him off when out of the corner of your eye you spot one of the men in the group you hadn’t really noticed before. Well over six feet tall with a full head of dark hair, he’s laughing so hard his eyes are crinkled shut behind the rims of his glasses.  
  
Maybe Ricky’s right. Maybe a drunken hotel-room tryst is just what you need before taking the drive of shame back home to Derry with your freshly-healed son.  
  
“I don’t see a wedding ring, do you?” You ask quietly, debating how awkward it would be if the woman sipping her glass beside him turned out to be his wife.  
  
“Can’t tell. Wait ‘til he takes another drink again.”  
  
The two of you sit like lionesses watching a gazelle from the cover of tall grass, eavesdropping into the group’s all-too loud conversation. They’re all so happy it makes your heart ache, and you check to make sure the thing they’re celebrating isn’t the hot one’s proposal. A sigh falls from your lips. They’re all just talking about finally getting rid of something, which paired with the confirmation that the man in question is not actually wearing a ring, sounds like a good enough sign that you should try to shoot your shot.  
  
“I’m gonna do it.” You tell Ricky, accidentally slamming your glass back down a little too hard against the bar. “I’m gonna fuck that guy over th—“  
  
Like a dog with its ears pricked your face falls flat, every muscle frozen and spine stiffened in your seat. Your hand shoots out beside you, grabbing your friend tight around his forearm without even thinking. Eyes wide, you don’t even look at him.  
  
“Those people... Did they just... Did they just say the word _‘clown?’”_  
  
Ricky glares at the place where your fingers are squeezing, before suddenly looking up towards the group again. His lips part in surprise, but you know before he even says anything that there’s no mishearing the name that just spilled out of one of their mouths.  
  
_Pennywise._ They say it again.  
  
It‘s almost like a curse-word, some evil thing to be thrown away and never spoken again. Their words become louder, the sound of everyone else in the bar suddenly drowned out. Pennywise. They’re celebrating the death of Pennywise The Dancing Clown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was definitely a hard chapter for me to tackle, but it's definitely one of the ones that I'm the most proud of so far! Thank you guys so much for everything! It's really been a blast and your support makes my heart expLODE but like, in a good way :')


	30. Charade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of this fic I made the final battle "physical" and changed a few details about the Losers

When you try to try to jump down from the edge of your stool, Ricky grabs onto your shoulder and yanks you back up. He’s bigger than you, stronger than you. Dirty fingernails pierce your skin. He holds you so hard you don’t even know if he realizes that he’s hurting you. You pull desperately against him, wanting to go over there, needing to go over there; but he just won’t for a fucking second let go of you.  
  
“It’s those kids.” You explain to him, tears bursting and rushing over the sides of your cheeks. “The ones from my dream... The ones that tried to kill it all those years ago.”   
  
Ricky shakes his head, frantically. He doesn’t know what to do; doesn’t know what to say to keep you from breaking, snapping in two while he watches on in horror.   
  
Your eyes drop down to the folded napkin beside you, the sharp end of a steak-knife sticking out of it. It glimmers in the light, and the second he sees where your mind is going Ricky reaches out to snatch it away from you.   
  
“We need to get out of here. You— you— you can’t be here. We have to— have to get you out of here, get you back home to your s—“   
  
It’s like a thread ripping when at last you jerk free from his hold. You jump down from your stool, and no matter how desperately Ricky grabs out at you his fingers don’t quite land this time. Out of his reach, your legs almost give out as you make your way to the group of strangers. Ricky might be shouting something after you. Hell, he might even be _screaming._ You can’t hear it though. All you hear is static.   
  
They all turn to you when they see you, and it feels just like that horrible dream. The way the light changed, the way they all looked at you. It’s like they can smell it on you, what you were to the thing they were so bent on destroying.   
  
“Hi, can we— Can we help you?” The woman in the group furrows her ginger brows.   
  
You’re close enough that you could touch her. You could hit her, grab her pretty hair; wreak havoc before any of the men around her ripped you away. Her eyes trace your body, stopping when she gets to the mud on your boots. Then they dart, searching the faces of every one of her friends.   
  
You open your mouth to speak, but at first nothing but a breath will come out. It’s like every nightmare you’ve ever had where you just can’t seem to scream for help.   
  
“I—“   
  
When at last you’re able to form words, something knocks the wind from your lungs. It’s Ricky, running drunkenly from the other end of the bar, slamming into your body on accident. He catches you before you can topple over, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you back.   
  
“I’m sorry guys, my sister she— she’s just had a little too much to drink tonight and she uh...” Ricky fakes a laugh, smiling awkwardly at everyone in the group. “You know how that can be.”   
  
Sister. The group returns the feigned gesture, forced chuckles and false grins. One by one they all start to turn back away from you. Sister. Ricky tries with all his strength to drag you away. Your eyes search the floor, the ornate patterns on the carpet below. Sister.   
  
“He killed our brother.” It spills from your mouth like vomit, catching the attention of every single one of The Losers.   
  
You can feel Ricky loosen his grip on your body, almost as if he can’t help but take a step back in confusion. The one you’d only minutes ago been thinking about fucking narrows his eyes, cocks his head to the side to stare down at you.   
  
“Come again?”   
  
“W-we couldn’t... We couldn’t help but overhear you guys... About the clown we...”   
  
Ricky lets go of you. You turn to glance at him; eyes wide and desperate and pleading. He shakes his head, tiny jerking movements so subtle that you know the others have missed it, but when he sees how hard you’re starting to shake he looks back over to them.   
  
“Pennywise.” He reiterates, swallowing hard. “We heard you talking about Pennywise the clown or— or whatever the hell it really is.”   
  
The group looks mortified, confused. You draw your eyes over every one of their faces, trying to remember what they look like. You recognize one of them, a handsome black man, but you don’t know where you’ve seen him before.   
  
One of the other men lean in, one you haven’t heard speak before. He’s just about to say something, a whisper, when the one you had wanted to sleep with loudly interrupts.   
  
“We killed that fucking clown.” He exclaims joyously, raising his shot glass to himself before downing it. He winces through it with a cough, and turns his attention back to Ricky. “You guys said—“   
  
“That it killed our brother.” You blurt out, not trusting Ricky to keep up the charade. “Years ago. Before we were... Before we were even born but it...”. You‘re trembling so hard that one of them reaches out to drape their hand over your shoulder, a gesture of comfort. It takes everything in you not to scream, not to tell them to get their disgusting fucking hand off of you; so you bite your tongue so hard you taste iron in your mouth. When you part your lips to speak again there’s blood on your teeth, “It’s been fucking with us... Showing us things you couldn’t even—“   
  
“I understand.” The man who had tried to speak before nods his head. “It killed my little brother too.”   
  
“But you don’t have to worry about that anymore.” The ginger-haired woman offers you a soft little smile. She lifts up her water to gesture to the men around her. “It’s gone now. It won’t be able to hurt you or anyone else ever again.”   
  
“How did you do it?”   
  
“What?” The woman asks, tilting her head to the side.   
  
“How did you kill the clown?”   
  
Ricky makes an odd sound beside you, almost like the high-pitched whine of a dog. He wants you to shut your mouth and back away, to deal with this at home without blowing up and doing anything irreversibly stupid.   
  
The woman clears her throat. “Well we... We defeated it once when we were all just children, but...”   
  
“But this time it was actually really easy.” The one with glasses interrupts. He lets out a chuckle, drunken and loud. “The thing just kinda... _Gave itself_ to us I guess.”   
  
Your heart starts to pound in your chest. A glimmer of hope pierces its way into your heart, words spilling out fast and high when you ask them, “So you’re sure that it’s dead?”   
  
“Oh, it’s definitely dead.” The man assures you, and the hope wilts as quickly as it had blossomed. He dips his head towards the black man. “Its body is actually still at Mike’s f—“   
  
A small-framed Loser beside him nudges him hard in the ribs, cutting off his words with an exaggerated yelp of pain. He gives him a weird look, and something unspoken passes between them.   
  
Ricky, whose face is ghost-white with nausea and fear, steps in again to put an end to the conversation. “But yeah we just... God, you know we’re just _so_ relieved to hear it. That’ll be the end to our nightmare; that's for sure.” He puts his arm around you, pulls you in by his side. _“Right,_ Sis?”   
  
You can’t even fake an answer. Even if you could, you wouldn’t.

The Losers all wave the two of you off again, as Ricky firmly walks you out of the hotel. You can’t feel your body as you go. It’s moving, sure, but it’s like someone else is pulling the strings.   
  
“They killed it.” You whisper, eyes staring out into nothingness as he leads you toward your car. “Pennywise, they just... They just fucking _killed it.”_   
  
When you stop to turn to Ricky, it doesn’t even feel like your heart is broken. It feels like it’s _gone,_ like those strangers reached inside of your chest and dug it out with their hands. Of all the possibilities, of all the endings; you never once thought it would ever go like this.   
  
You wipe clean your tears with the back of your arm. You didn’t even realize it was raining, fat droplets tapping cool against your sunburnt skin. The two of you stand there for a long while in the darkness of the parking lot. Ricky opens his mouth, but you can see it in his eyes that he knows there’s no right thing for him to say. This didn’t happen for a reason. It isn’t going to make you stronger. It’s nothing. It meant absolutely  _nothing._   
  
Ricky opens his arms, but you don’t step forward into them. He’s trying to comfort you; you’re thankful for that. It’s just that right now, the comfort feels wrong.   
  
You shake your head at him. He understands.   
  
Inside the car, it’s like being in a different world. The sounds are sharper, your own determination cutting through the alcohol like a hot knife through butter. You don’t say anything to each other. The quickness of your breath, and the soft patter of rain against the roof are the only sounds for a long while.   
  
When Ricky reaches out to gently touch your arm, you pull away.   
  
“Are you sure you’re good to drive yet?” He asks gently, like you might shatter into shards of broken glass if he reaches a certain volume.   
  
You barely even hear him though. You’re too busy thinking, furrowing your brows as you dig your nails into the soft foam of your steering wheel.   
  
“What was it that guy said?” Your eyes dart all around, as if you’re searching for the answer in front of yourself instead of buried inside of your memories. “Mike’s... Mike’s what? Mike’s family’s? Mike’s _farm?”_   
  
Ricky turns his head towards you at a glacial pace, so reluctant; as if he’s afraid of what he might see. You don’t look back him. You’re too busy staring at the entrance of the hotel; watching, waiting.   
  
His voice is quiet, tempered. Every word is so slow, pleading with you in a voice that’s so sincere it doesn’t even sound like his own. “I know that you loved it. I _know_ that you loved it.” He wets his lips, raises his brows. “But please... Whatever you’re planning to do... _Don’t.”_   
  
“You can stay here.”   
  
Ricky blinks at you. “I can... I can what?”   
  
“You can stay here.” Turning the key into the ignition, your engine roars to life. “I’ll give you money for an Uber, and you can go home and wash your hands of all of this.”   
  
You cut off your headlights. Ricky’s mouth twists. He brings a hand to his head, drags it down hard over the side of his face.   
  
“These people...” The hand goes to the back of his neck, and even in the frigid air rolling in your car you swear you can smell the musk of fresh sweat on his skin. “What they did... They’re not... They’re not _evil._ You know that, right? I mean...”   
  
You turn to glare at him. There are no tears this time. There’s just nothing.   
  
When you buckle up your seatbelt, Ricky twirls into a panic.   
  
“Think about this. Think about your parents, your brother, your... Your fucking... Think about— think about me! Think about Jody! Think about Buddy!” He buries his hands in his hair, breath coming out hot and fast. “If you do something stupid tonight, and you get yourself killed, or— or put in jail then what— What the hell happens t—“   
  
“I’m not...” You squeeze your eyes shut tight, arms outstretched at the steering wheel starting to shudder. “I’m not gonna... _Do_ anything to them.”   
  
When you open your eyes you look back over to him, to show him that you’re not lying. Because you’re not. As much it fucking hurts, you’re not a murderer. You never have been.   
  
“I have a son. I have a life. I just... I have to see it, Ricky. I have to see its body.”   
  
Ricky’s muscles loosen. He melts into his seat. A beat passes, and without a word, he buckles his seatbelt too.   
  
You look back at the entrance just in time to see Mike, the one whose property that guy said that Pennywise’s body allegedly rests, strolling out through the door of the hotel. He doesn’t even look _hurt,_ as if Pennywise had just thrown itself at their feet to let them kill it. Beneath your skin, you can feel your blood begin to boil.   
  
“It was so strong, Ricky. It was the strongest thing that I’ve ever—“ You have to stop yourself to keep from crying.   
  
Mike pulls out of the lot and you follow. You try to keep another car between you at all times but you’re so fucking scared of losing him that sometimes you can’t even help it. A sick part of you wishes you were alone, that you could ram your car into him as fast as you can go, but the thought fizzles out like summer lightning in the sky.   
  
“What if he doesn’t even live in Derry? What if he was just visiting and he—“   
  
“He does.” You answer solemnly. “I’ve seen him around here.”   
  
Ricky leans back in his seat.   
  
You can’t help but feel reminded of that time when you were on your way to that party with Ricky by your side, laughing and teasing each other about your terrible driving. You were so different then; not better, but so full of hope. The future was bright and unwritten. Pennywise lived in your house. It was alive. You— you were alive.   
  
The Loser’s car turns down an unfamiliar road. Trees stretch over like an archway, blotting out the cobalt sky until all that’s left is the blinding beam of your headlights. He pulls into the driveway of an old farmhouse, and even though you pull past it for now, there’ll be no forgetting which one it is.   
  
You park your car a ways down the road, cutting off the ignition. All that’s left now is to wait.   
  
Ricky clears his throat. “Jody keeps call—“   
  
“Ignore him.”   
  
It feels like an eternity before you feel secure enough that whoever lives in that house has surely gone to sleep. When you’re about to step out of the car again Ricky grabs you by the arm, gently, to get your attention.   
  
“Are you wanna do this?” His eyes are as wide as you’ve ever seen them. “I mean, this guy... What if Pennywise’s body is _inside_ of his house? How are we gonna get in?”   
  
“It’s not.”   
  
“But how do you know?”   
  
You don’t know how to answer. You just _know._   
  
“If I’m not back in an hour, I want you to leave.”   
  
“No.” Ricky pauses for a moment, then unbuckles his seatbelt in a hurry. “No, I’m not... I’m not leaving you alone this time.”   
  
A thick rush of emotion hits you like a hammer to the chest. You choke on a sob. It means something. That night in the trailer he had left you alone, but not now. Not anymore.   
  
“I love you.” You breathe. “I know I don’t ever say it but you’re my best friend, and I—“   
  
“I know.” Ricky gives you a forced smile. He gives your arm a squeeze before letting go. “I love you too.”   


 

 

* * *

 

  
  
Your face is numb and expressionless, skin pale as you stare at the row of corn stalks hidden behind the back of the house. It takes everything in you to be able to take a step forward. Your knees are wobbling violently beneath the weight of your body, and after a few yards you nearly collapse altogether before Ricky reaches out to catch you in his arms.   
  
You’re vaguely aware of Ricky mumbling something about Jody again as he straightens you up onto your feet. All the sounds around you are starting to grow muffled and distorted, like listening to an old radio with your ear pressed against the speaker. You can hear the pounding of your heart in your chest, and the deafening chorus of crickets as the moon dips behind the blanket of a cloud, but everything else is slowly drowning out.   
  
Its enormous, arachnid body lies flat amongst the stalks; every one of its eyes closed. The breath leaves your lungs, and for a long while, you swear the earth has stopped spinning. A few more steps, and you’re close enough now that you could reach out and touch its plated skin if you wanted to. You drop down to your knees, clutching at the grass as if it’s the only thing keeping you from floating away.   
  
You weep as hard as you’ve ever wept in your life. Everything hurts. Every fiber of your being, every atom and molecule and whatever the fuck makes you who you are is replaced with an agony you can’t even find the words to describe.   
  
The gentle touch of a hand against your shoulder makes you jerk your head around. It’s only Ricky, leaning over you enough so that he can speak softly to you.   
  
“Jody’s starting to call me ag—“   
  
“Ignore it!” You scream, louder than you meant to. You know what you’re risking, what could happen to you if you awaken the man who lives in that house; but you can’t fucking help it.   
  
The stench of blood and death floods your nostrils. There’s blood on the grass, sticky on your hands; on the stalks beside its massive body, on the—   
  
The spider twitches. You let out a gasp, adrenaline flooding your veins. Another moment passes, and it starts to open its eyes.


End file.
